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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26875714">Not Fine Together</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/asleeb/pseuds/asleeb'>asleeb</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Use Your Words [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Addiction Themes, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Canon Asexual Character, Depression Overtones, Fluff, Good Cows, Hurt/Comfort, Jon has no idea how he feels about sex. at the moment, M/M, Martin is a judgmental bitch and i like him so much, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), brush your teeth after reading, canon-typical halting difficult conversations that have no satisfying conclusion, canon-typical hand-wringing, i just want soft ace/allo rep where it's hard and clumsy and there are mistakes but also patience, i just want to listen to these two idly banter for the rest of their lives is that too much to ask, ive never been to scotland forgive me, rated M for talking about sex one shower scene and one awkward erection, sex-favorable Jon, still editing this once in a while heads up</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:54:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26875714</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/asleeb/pseuds/asleeb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not saying you can't pet them, just be careful?"<br/>"I am careful. But these are good cows! Aren't you? You're a very good cow! And Jon is being very silly, that's right."<br/>Jon scoffed so loudly Martin could hear him clearly all the way over there. The cow that had walked up to where he stood looked to be the curious sort, and nosed the front of his jacket searchingly. Martin scratched her between the eyes, gave the ears a little squeeze.<br/>"Sorry. I don't have any cow treats. Guess you'll have to eat me, to prove Jon right."</p><p>_____<br/>In which the boys get to Scotland and enjoy the existence of the world as they know it, for a little while.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Use Your Words [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>288</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>tma fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Here there be good cows.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon didn't let go of Martin's hand.<br/>Not when they left the Institute, not when he fumbled with the phone to call Basira, and not when they finally got on the train, shuffling through the narrow rows of seats and strangers. He held his hand like he was afraid if he let go Martin would dissolve into the fog again like a drowning child. Martin wasn't sure whether he was right to worry. He felt solid, there, with his soles on the ground and his fingers between Jon's fingers, but occasionally there was a swimming feeling in his head. When he looked around too much, or moved his arm up to fix his hair out of his eyes, or tried to speak. Like he was somehow too far off the ground. </p><p>He stared out the window and willed his eyes into focus on the passing power poles - the cables going up and down, up and down. The streetlights in the dark were warm, and old, and varied in the strength of them ever so slightly. They looked familiar, in that sleep-deprived London sort of way, but he couldn't find it in himself to <em>feel</em> that they were familiar. Like he'd only ever seen them in pictures. Like he had been abroad a long time. Not that he'd ever been abroad. </p><p>Sometimes he thought that it had begun to drizzle, maybe, the air building solid cones from the lights, making fuzzy rims around the lampheads. But the glass of the window remained bone dry. He blinked. Maybe it had gotten in his eyes, the fog in the Lonely. Maybe it was like swimming in chlorine with open eyes, making bright lights bloom like that when you looked at them. Maybe it would go away after a while.<br/><br/>He turned to look at the empty seat facing him, the scuffed, ugly print fabric on the headrest, his hiking backpack parked there. Looked at his and Jon's hands on the armrest between them. Was this really his hand? A part of his body? Martin looked at the top of Jon's head, leaned heavy against Martin's shoulder when he'd dozed off. The motion made him stir, and then Jon looked at him, very awake. He'd been sure he was asleep this whole time. </p><p>They hadn't really said anything to each other. Not since the institute. Only small things, only to confirm what to do, where they had to go. Had Martin even done anything but nod? He couldn't recall.<br/>It must be so late. But Jon didn't look tired. For once, he didn't look tired. He just looked firm. Solid. The side of his glasses had left a line on the skin between his eye and temple where it had dug in. His eyes were so dark. Martin had always liked them. Even when --</p><p>"What?"</p><p>Martin realised he'd just been staring at Jon. </p><p>"How late is it?", he found himself saying, just to give an answer. It didn't feel right. Hollow, somehow. Was that something Martin would say? Or should he have said <em>You should sleep, Jon.</em> It's late. Please go to sleep. You can work again in the morning.</p><p>"Dunno - five-ish?" Jon had moved around to rub at his face and made to look at his wristwatch. Then, without having really looked, he seemed to sigh at himself. "Five ten", he said, definitively, shaking his sleeve over the wristband.</p><p>"You don't really need it any more, do you", Martin said.</p><p>"No... I guess not."</p><p>Martin hummed.</p><p>"You should try and get some sleep", said Jon.</p><p>Martin laughed. A short, not particularly joyful breath of a laugh. The sort of laugh he'd developed only when-- after the Unknowing. </p><p>"What's funny?"</p><p>He tried again, and it came out a wobbly smile, then shrugged.</p><p>Jon didn't look upset at this curt, flat Martin he was sat next to. In fact, he'd remained unbothered about the quiet and the unresponsiveness throughout. He just squeezed his hand and settled down again, cheek against Martin's plasticky rain jacket, the crown of his poorly tied-back hair slightly raising up as the side got smushed against his shoulder. This time he reached up and took the glasses off his face, held them folded in his other hand.</p><p>It was then that Martin closed his eyes, an attempt to hold the image of Jon still in his mind, leaned back heavily into his seat and tried to find out if sleep would happen to him.</p><p><br/>_____________<br/><br/><br/>"First we should go find some tea."</p><p>The morning sun was strong and a bit too bright by the time they'd gotten off the train with stiff limbs and what felt like far too little luggage. Martin had watched Jon fuss over bus tickets and frown intensely at timetables for about half an hour since. He was mumbling darkly about Scottish transport management and Martin felt a small smile creep up on him as Jon turned to him and said this. We. <em>We</em> should. Find some tea.</p><p>"Sounds good", Martin said and watched the creases on Jon's forehead soften. He waited as Jon rearranged his backpack and arms. And coatsleeves and hair, and foldable map. Then he took ahold of Jon's hand, pointing at the small stand-up café ahead.<br/><br/>____</p><p><br/>"-- I just don't see the problem with using ceramics, it simply can't be that cost-efficient."<br/>"You know I don't mind the plastic. Like this, it cools down a bit faster."<br/>"Not before you burn your hands getting it."</p><p>Between being subjected to weak tea and Jon's strong opinions Martin found he could maybe stand to spend every morning like this, elbows leaned onto a wobbly outdoor table, an icy breeze stirring his hair. Listening to Jon gripe about nothing in particular.</p><p>"I just prefer cups, is all", Jon ended his rant, huffing hotly, then pulled at his collar against the stiff wind. Martin narrowed his eyes at him, and not just because of the sunlight. "Before we get on the bus, we should buy you a scarf."</p><p>"No, I have one", Jon said, then didn't move until Martin raised his eyebrows at him. Sighing, he dove into his backpack and produced -</p><p>"That's mine, you know." <br/>Martin recognised the busy knit pattern immediately. Jon took a pause, looking caught.</p><p>"I don't think... Maybe." He made a face as though he was scanning dimly lit memories.</p><p>Martin even remembered the exact snowstorm when he'd forced it on Jon, who'd acted as though he was only taking it out of sheer politeness. Then he'd wrapped it around himself so many times he practically was swimming in it. It seemed like such a long time ago now. Jon must have had this in his office the whole time, they hadn't had time to stop at his place before making the trip.</p><p>"...Sorry." Jon looked so contrite then, it seemed like an even longer time ago. Seemed like that Jon was another person entirely.<br/>As if to prove this, he cracked a smile. "Ehm. If I get my own one and give this back, will that make me less of an ass?"</p><p>Martin considered this at length. "No. You wear it. But it's still only lent, alright? Can't just let you take all of my things can I."<br/>Already folding the scarf in half and slinging it round his neck, Jon smiled, then looked thoughtful.<br/>"One day I'll make up for it, you know", he said into the wool as he stuffed the ends into each other, "If I can." It didn't fit at all. No scarf had ever looked so obviously borrowed.</p><p>He looked up. "For how I was. You know."</p><p>Martin tilted his head as if indecisive. Was he enjoying this too much? "You got your work cut out for you then", he said, no longer able not to smile.</p><p>Jon took his disappointing tea and finished it. "I know."</p><p><br/>____________<br/><br/><br/>"Shouldn't we-"<br/>"Probably. Hold up-"<br/>"No, give it here."<br/>Martin hauled the first backpack onto the overhead shelf, careful not to knock anyone in the narrow aisle between the bus seats. Jon held out the second backpack, standing awkwardly halfway on his seat.<br/>"Are you sure? Your breakfast is in there."<br/>"It's fine."<br/>"You barely took a bite."<br/>"It's <em>fine</em>, Martin." His tone wasn't impatient. More like scolding. Martin was getting into old habits.<br/>"Alright, alright."</p><p>He fell into the seat next to Jon with a sigh, then turned to see him, Head Archivist of the So-and-So, fighting his coat sleeves in an enclosed space. <br/>"Oh for God's sake-" Martin gave a tug, and Jon escaped his gangly arm with a bit too much force, slapping the seat in front of him. Distractedly he mumbled a thanks as he folded it and his scarf in his lap. Then proceeded to peer skeptically out of the window. "Why does everything in Scotland have to be so far away?", he said, judgmentally.</p><p>"The ride isn't that long, Jon", Martin said, <em>again</em>, screwing his water bottle into the net pocket of the seat in front of him.<br/>"Also. Wasn't 'far away' rather the point?"<br/>Jon made a noise that said <em>You're right and you should stop it</em> and settled into his seat while Martin un-flattened his hair after taking off his cable-knit hat. Automatically, he put his hand on top of Jon's when he was done. Then looked at it there.</p><p>"Are you feeling better, then?", Jon said, and his fingers splayed a fraction, giving way for their hands to slot together as if this was something they'd always done.</p><p>"Mh-mm", Martin said, curling his fingertips, touching the edge of Jon's palm. He knew Jon was looking at him, but instead of looking back he calmly felt his cheeks warm up. Thank God... Some of him was still able to feel- What was it? Self-conscious? Embarassed? No... that wasn't it. He'd find out later.</p><p>"I'm still... Something. A little--" He made an excessively vague gesture. "Everything is far away, you know."</p><p>Jon just nodded like what he'd said made a ton of sense.<br/>"But ...getting better?" </p><p>And for the first time Jon let on that he was worried. That he had been worried.</p><p>"I think so. Yeah."</p><p>Jon breathed a sigh of relief through his nose. "Good. That's good..." <br/>"Not that, er- It's okay! If you're not okay. It's been a- a lot. Everything. It's fine if you don't feel- fine. I don't want you to- to-"</p><p>"Jon."<br/>He closed his mouth mid-ramble.<br/>Martin gave his hand a squeeze. "I know."<br/><br/><br/>____________<br/><br/><br/>"...20, 24-<em>hundred</em> pounds. Any animal that large is dangerous and it doesn't make any sense to go near a dangerous animal."<br/>"Well I'm not going to go up and pick a fight with one, Jon, but cows are actually very calm and gentle, especially on the field."<br/>"They have horns! They have them for a reason."<br/>"Well then don't go and try to steal their newborn and you'll be fine."<br/>"I just. Don't like them."</p><p>From the corner of his eye, Martin could see the person to the left of their row pointedly putting in earphones. He and Jon had been bickering like this for, what, an hour? And Jon's arguing voice was the kind that carried.</p><p>By now they were deep in the grasslands. The bus was rolling along merrily, up onto a steep hill flanked by the most ridiculously green grass in the <em>world</em>. In the distance, there was a middle-of-the-road sort of bus stop, with two elderly ladies waiting on a wooden bench.</p><p>"What is it with you and harmless animals? But then you like cats! And cats can be mean."<br/>"I like <em>a</em> cat."</p><p>The bus slid to a halt lazily and the doors came open with a wheeze.</p><p>"Oh look at you, one cat out of <em>all</em> cats. Why does he get a pass?"<br/>"Because he's very <em>c</em>- This is very beside the point."</p><p>One of the old ladies had a walking cane and she carefully tucked it into her lap when she was sat down, the curved tip bobbing on her knee.</p><p>"Cows are cute too."<br/>"I didn't <em>say</em> -"</p><p>The bus doors slid shut again, and the motor hiccuped into gear. Jon had gone quiet, his hand still raised mid-gesture, looking in the direction of the new passengers. Looking at them... oddly.</p><p>"Jon?"</p><p>Jon put his hand down. Then, with what looked like effort, he turned to stare at the back of the seat in front of him.</p><p>"Jon, what is it?"</p><p>Jon looked ill somehow. He lowered his voice so far that Martin had to lean in. </p><p>"It's the- That woman. She has a- A story."</p><p>Martin glanced at the old ladies.<br/>"A statement", Jon clarified tightly.</p><p>The women seemed to be chatting pleasantly.</p><p>Martin frowned. "Oh. <em>Oh</em>. ...Oh no." </p><p>Oh no.</p><p>"Are you? ...Hungry?", Martin whispered. Words always seemed very wrong when talking about this. <br/>The question was immediately superfluous. There was no muscle in Jon's body that wasn't tense.</p><p>"What do we do?"</p><p>"Get off."<br/>"Get off the bus?"<br/>The bus had now crested the hill and the downhill momentum sped it up fast.</p><p>"...Shit." This, Jon said firmly into his hands as he covered his face.<br/>"Should I? Ask them to stop the-"<br/>"Martin." Jon's voice was muffled between palms.<br/>"Should I-?"<br/>"Martin just. Don't let me get up."<br/>"Okay?"<br/>"Don't let me get out of the seat."<br/>"Okay."</p><p>Jon was just breathing now, deliberately and poorly. Martin put a hand on his back and rubbed little circles into it uselessly as if he was a car-sick child.</p><p><br/>After a few minutes Jon sat up straight and stiffly like driving past the rosy scenery of the Highlands was his personal foremost fear. <br/>He began fidgeting. With the sleeves of his sweater. The crumbly filling of the torn armrest. Biting the knuckles on his fingers. Martin tried talking to him to distract him but Jon just made noncommittal sounds.<br/>They were driving through wooded area now. The intermittent sunlight hitting from behind the spaced-out treetops lit the sweat on Jon's forehead. Light, shadow. Light. All the while Jon intently tapped his nails on the rubber insulation circling the window. Eventually, when he started biting his nails, Martin grabbed the hand away from him and tucked the whole arm under his elbow and held it there tight.</p><p>"You're doing fine.", he said, rather missing the preternatural calm detatchment that had sat tight in his chest during the night. "It's all good. Going to be fine."</p><p>"What if it's not fine", Jon said, voice strained. "What if we get off and I - it doesn't stop? What if I <em>need</em>-"<br/>"Jon", Martin cut him off. "I've heard this before. I heard the tapes. You've said all this before. It's going to be fine. You won't die."</p><p>"<em>You don't know</em>", Jon snapped. "Not for sure. We don't know anything for sure. And yesterday- Was <em>hard</em>. I've barely had any rest and- You'd rather I <em>die</em>-"<br/>"Jon. When you start dying then we can talk, but right now I need you to keep it together."<br/><br/>Martin afforded himself a glance around. The passenger on their left seemed to have dozed off, earbuds clearly set to the highest volume, blessed angel.</p><p>Beside him, Jon squirmed in his seat. Tried to extract his arm.<br/>"You can't ask me to - It's not like- I can't just turn it <em>off</em>, Martin. All I have is the statements- just paper statements, <em>old</em> ones, and they don't ever help, maybe if I just-"</p><p>He held still, just for a second. Had a thought. "What if-- What if she <em>wants</em> to talk about it. Gertrude used to say some people felt relieved after giving statements. Melanie didn't mind. She <em>wanted</em> to talk to me. What if I just ask? I could just ask, I won't <em>ask</em> ask, I promise. No compelling. I just won't."</p><p>All Martin did was hold firm. "I thought you'd be better at rationalising by now."<br/>It was probably a bad idea to return Jon's withering look but he couldn't look away now. He had a brief, nasty moment where he was glad he was taller than Jon, and wider. And that Jon had the muscle strength of a rained-on eclaire. <br/>He would have sworn Jon's thoughts were on the exact same road when his eyes flicked past Martin's head and toward the other passengers. Under his own hand Martin could feel Jon's pulse go a mile a minute, and his eyes were wide like a lost deer's. He knew he should be mad at him. Maybe he could be mad later.</p><p>"Don't be a moron, Jon." He'd meant to say it snippish like, but instead it came out a request, no edge to it at all. Something about the way Jon's name wanted to sound out of his mouth. Darn.<br/>Jon stayed very still, looking. Weighing his options, maybe.</p><p>"Jon, please?"</p><p>Jon stared at him for an eternity. When he sniffed, and threw himself back into his seat Martin wanted to think it was his softened voice that did it. Martin wanted to think it was something about the hurt that had snuck into his tone. That it was not about the weight of his arm on Jon's, or the fact that by sheer luck he was sitting in the aisle seat and Jon by the window. He really wanted to think that.</p><p><br/>The rest of the way Jon sat limply, darkly pondering the floor. At the next stop Martin stood carefully, shouldered his backpack and posited Jon's bag roughly onto his chest so he had to hold it with both arms. Then he led him out the bus right so firmly by the shoulders he couldn't turn nor slow down. He only let go when the bus was rolling away, churning gravel under its wheels. They were left with nothing but grass, a crossroads, a little roofed bus stop bench and the distant chirping of birds. There was an ancient windowless barn some ways off.</p><p><br/>Martin took a deep breath. "Alright then. What now?"<br/>The wound-up tension from the last hour rang clearly with the words.<br/>Jon just stood there, looking hollow. "I'm going to have a cigarette." And he turned away and walked into the grass.</p><p>"Well then. We can only hope the next bus has only nice ordinary people who were never afraid of anything in their lives", Martin said, voice raised. He kicked a few pebbles off the road. Watch them roll downhill. The click of Jon's lighter was sharp and cold.</p><p>"God. Jon. That was<em> awful</em>." </p><p>Jon had his back to him and his head down, appeared to be muttering to himself.</p><p>"No! You don't get to mope. Say something."</p><p>"I'm <em>sorry</em>." The way he raised his voice across the words made clear that he was repeating himself. That he'd first said it too quietly.</p><p>"I'm sorry."<br/>He sat down in the grass and took a breath like a collapsing building.</p><p>Martin felt around for his anger, but it had left him. "Jon. I don't want to do that again."<br/>He saw Jon nod. After a moment of thinking Martin walked over, sat beside him.</p><p>"Jon -", he began.</p><p>"Don't", Jon said. "Martin. Don't say it's fine."</p><p>"I wasn't going to." </p><p>Jon unfolded his knees, sat with his legs straight, then put his head back and stared into the sky. "What then?"</p><p>"Because it's not fine, is it? You're not fine. <em>I'm</em> certainly not fine. We're <em>here.</em>" Martin gestured, indicating the unfamiliar ass-of-the-world patch of land in their view. "We're not shooting for fine, we're shooting for... staying not fine. Instead of... Of plain bad."</p><p>Jon opened and closed his hand. "...It's not the same. You and I. You know it isn't. I can <em>hurt</em> people. Just now I wanted to- "</p><p>"Don't tell me", Martin said quickly. "I don't want to hear it."<br/>He had a feeling Jon didn't quite have the words ready anyway, the way his throat had cut off there.</p><p>"You'll get better at it, Jon. Because you'll have to."</p><p>Jon put his cigarette between his lips, then exhaled darkly. "And what if I don't." They watched the smoke blow away with the wind.</p><p>"You've got to stop saying 'What if' all the time. It doesn't help. You'll just have to. Like everybody else."</p><p>"<em>Who</em> else, Martin? It's not exactly like I- "</p><p>"<em>Addicts,</em> Jon."</p><p>Jon opened his mouth. Then closed it.<br/>The silence that followed hung on for a while. Jon looked at his hand, turning the cigarette between his fingers. Looked annoyed. Possibly at the goddamn <em>symbolism</em>. Eventually he ground it out into the earth.</p><p>"You're right", Jon said. Then, like he was telling himself, "You're right." He nodded. Kept nodding.</p><p>Martin had started picking at the mud on his shoes. "The important thing is that nothing happened. You got through it."</p><p>Jon drew up his shoulders, closing a fist around the cigarette bud. "I <em>am</em> sorry. I'm sorry you had to... deal with that. With me."</p><p>Martin shrugged. "You dealt with me all day yesterday."</p><p>Jon laughed a disbelieving laugh. Then looked at his own shoes as if to mirror what Martin was doing. "That was a lot easier."</p><p>"Was it?" Martin was asking in earnest. Did Jon forget? Martin certainly hadn't. At least not the important bits.<br/>It couldn't have been easy, to come into the Lonely, so quickly and not prepared. Not nearing it slowly, over the course of months. Just to get there. Then to find him. Get him to hear... Then after that, there was a haze. He had barely noticed where they were or where they were going. When Jon spoke with him. He couldn't have noticed if Jon was upset, or fatigued; hungry...</p><p>Now they both were looking at each other. "All I did was hold your hand", Jon said.</p><p>"Alright then. That's all I did, too."</p><p>Deep annoyance passed over Jon's face and Martin couldn't help but laugh. So loudly it rang a little in his ears. Like his ear drums weren't used to it. Jon struggled a moment, clearly stopping himself from insisting that these false equivalencies hurt his orderly and keen mind. Then, he didn't smile, exactly, but the scowl he'd nursed for the past hour finally went away. <br/><br/>_______________<br/><br/><br/>"We have... three hours." Jon took his finger off of the bus plan with a a whince.<br/>"Oof."<br/>"Yes..."<br/>"We could probably walk halfway there in that time."<br/>"Probably."</p><p>They both looked up the road where it climbed yet another steep hill until it went on, probably into a winding path with curves and lots of loose asphalt. Even the weather in that direction looked sour, heavy clouds piling up in the distance.</p><p>Martin tapped his chin. "How about... We have some food. And see some sights?"</p><p>"Sights?", Jon echoed skeptically.</p><p>Martin spread his arms wide, gesturing at the grass, the trees, the sky, the nature of it all. "Sights."</p><p>Jon looked unconvinced.</p><p>"What do <em>you</em> wanna do, then?"</p><p>"Seeing as I got us stranded here in the first place I don't think I have a right to argue." His still dampened mood didn't allow his smile to come out quite right.</p><p>"Sights it is." Martin held out his hand. Open and closed it. Feigning reluctance in the face of Martin's impatience, Jon took it, and Martin started walking them onto the gravel path crossing at a perfect right angle with the road. It seemed to just lead into the fields and towards a small patch of forest, the outline neatly square-ish to please some invisible line of land ownership.</p><p>"There are worse places to get yourself stranded in, you know", Martin said, informatively.<br/>"Really." Jon was lagging a bit, so Martin could only <em>hear</em> him roll his eyes.<br/>"Pretty sure." He overdid the words and dragged out the <em>t'</em>s.<br/>"Imagine that."<br/>"So this is not so bad." As he walked, Martin scanned the ragged-hills horizon. He held out hope for a bench, or a fallen log even, to maybe have a bit of a picknick on. Maybe by the treeline. The wind was picking up.</p><p>They walked until the crunch of fallen Autumn leaves marked their steps. They checked for an entrance into the forest briefly but there was nothing good, so they rounded the corner of it, and that's when Martin heard cow bells. <br/>Jon must have heard them at the same time, because he gave an <em>Oh no </em>sort of groan.<br/>Martin just ignored him and picked up the pace.</p><p>Behind the bend in the trees there was another dip in the forest line revealing a large patch of trod-upon grass circled by a flimsy electric fence. And a good two dozen highland cows in various stages of leisure. They came in shades of ginger-brown and cream and had long hair and friendly fuzzy faces, the sort that begged for a handful of clover and a pat on the nose. They were wonderful.</p><p>"Didn't I say? Sights!"</p><p>"Martin", Jon said pleadingly.<br/>Martin had already let go of Jon and was walking towards them. "Now you're telling me these look like 'dangerous animals'?"<br/>"M<em>ah</em>tin."<br/>"There is even a fence, look. I'm gonna pet at least one."<br/>"I'm not saying you can't pet them, just be careful?"<br/>"I am careful. But these are good cows! Aren't you? You're a very good cow! And Jon is being very silly, that's right."<br/>Jon scoffed so loudly Martin could hear him clearly all the way over there. The cow that had walked up to where he stood looked to be the curious sort and nosed the front of his jacket searchingly. Martin scratched her between the eyes, gave the ears a little squeeze.<br/>"Sorry. I don't have any cow treats. Guess you'll have to eat me, to prove Jon right."</p><p>"I'm not being <em>unreasonable</em>." Jon had walked up behind him, hands in his pockets.<br/>"Yes you are. Look at this cow. How can you say she's bad?"<br/>When he put both hands on her cheeks she just looked at them both with huge eyes.<br/><br/>"I never said <em>bad</em>. Only that she could uproot a small tree with just her hind legs."<br/>"That's why we like the front of the cow, and we don't make a ton of sudden movements, see?"<br/>The cow had switched to searching Martin's open palms thoroughly with her tongue.</p><p>Jon sighed and stood besides Martin. Then he held out a narrow hand to touch her head where the shaggy fur was longest. He ran his fingers lightly along a long strand, followed the curl of the shorter fur by the cheek with his index. Put his palm against her forehead.<br/>Meanwhile the cow seemed to lose interest, since they both didn't offer her any food, and began licking her own knees.<br/><br/>"There", Martin said, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Now you like <em>a</em> cow."<br/>Jon gave a snort, his face turned to watch Martin. Then, he raised a hand and suddenly touched Martin on the back of the head, pulled him down slightly and pressed his lips to his temple, very briefly. Then walked away.</p><p>Martin stared at the cows. A few of them looked at him knowingly, tails swaying. One was blinking, slowly, with just one eye.</p><p>"You think this would be a good place to sit and eat?", Jon had his voice raised a little over the wind.<br/>"Uh-huh", said Martin, wondering whether he could tuck his blush behind his scarf effectively or no.</p><p>Jon had rolled out the spare rain poncho so they could sit in the damp grass, with full view of the cows. It was rather big but they ended up sat really close. Martin would have been able to reason that it was smart - share some warmth against the wind - had Jon not done that and kissed him just now, right over there. Now it was all... Now the reasons weren't all smart any more.</p><p>Jon pulled out the sandwich he already hadn't liked this morning and peeled the paper off of the cut side.<br/>"Does it help?", Martin asked, squinting against a fresh gust of wind as he dug around for lunch. "Normal food. Does it help? With the... other thing?"<br/>"Not really. I-" Jon looked a bit sheepish then. "I don't think I <em>need</em> it anymore. Don't need to eat."<br/>"Weird."<br/>"But it's, ehm, still nice, you know. And it's... When you've done something for so long. It's a bit strange not to, to be honest."<br/>"So you don't feel hungry ever?"<br/>"No. When er," Jon scratched his face considering his words. "When the circus took me, she, uh- I didn't have any food there. First I thought time had become... warped in that place, like it sometimes does with... But when I got back it was three weeks. That's when I was sure. That I can't die of starvation at least."<br/>He looked at his egg sandwich, considering it like a thought puzzle.</p><p>"That's awful."</p><p>Jon looked up from his ruminations. "Maybe. But it <em>is</em> nice not to die." He took a bite.</p><p>Martin watched him a moment. He'd known this. Most of it. That technically Jon had stopped being human in the hospital. Maybe even before that. But he'd never really <em>believed</em> it. Not in his heart. What did it matter to Martin what Jon was? It just mattered who he was, always had. He'd never given it much thought because it made no difference to him.</p><p>"What else?", he asked. "What else is different? For you."</p><p>"Does it matter?"</p><p>"No. But I like to know things about you."</p><p>Jon looked thoughtful. "Well. There's... the questions, compelling people to answer me when I ask", he begun, extending a finger as if starting a count.<br/>"Uh-huh." <br/>"The statements, obviously. Need them."<br/>"Yep." <br/>"Knowing things. Sort of."<br/>"Any things?"<br/>"Mm, no. I can't tell what people think or- Or hypothetical questions. Things related to the dark... Maybe other things are hard, that I don't know of. It's... hard to know what I don't know."<br/>Martin nodded, chewing.<br/>"Then. Not having to eat."<br/>"Don't forget surviving a building falling on you."<br/>"I mean. Apparently it's debatable whether or not I- Survive is maybe a strong word."<br/>"Fine. It's nice not to die and all that."<br/>"Yes."<br/>"What about sleep?"<br/>"I still sleep."<br/>"That's good."<br/>"Though it's a bit... Complicated now."<br/>"Oh?"<br/>"Dreams." Jon looked like he didn't really feel like going into it more.<br/>"...Right. What else?"<br/>"I don't know. That's all. That I'm aware of."<br/>"Hmm", Martin said, not quite convinced.<br/>"Wait-", he said. "What was it you did to the delivery guy? Breekon." The tape hadn't exactly been illuminating.<br/>Jon had put his sandwich down, hand resting on his knee. "Mh. I just asked him the question. He was in a weakened state and tried to resist the compulsion. And I asked him... very hard."</p><p>As he spoke he slowed down, like he'd remembered the event just now. He ended quietly, staring at his food.</p><p>"Hm. I had the impression he sort of wanted you to kill him", Martin offered thoughtfully. Jon didn't look any less uncomfortable.</p><p>"Can we- How about you tell me something. About yourself."</p><p>"Uuh." Martin pulled a blank. "I don't know. I think you know me okay."</p><p>"Martin we haven't talked in months."</p><p>"Yeah but... I didn't really do anything that interesting. You know", he turned his palm upwards, "Being lonely."</p><p>"Fine then. Why do you like cows so much?"<br/>"They're... nice? Look at them."<br/>"Yes but there aren't many cows in London are there."<br/>"Oh. Well we used to take trips to Brighton when I was younger, see some farms. See some cows. Also goats, chickens, sheep, the lot."</p><p>Then he had a thought. "Jon? Have you never seen a cow before today?"</p><p>"Well I've seen pictures", Jon said forcefully. Jon, Jonathan Sims, said that. Jon 'Seen pictures' Head Archivist of the- <br/>Martin's face must've gotten away from him because Jon went on to look even more defensive in his attempt to project dignity.<br/>"But, no. Not in person. They don't really put them in Zoos, cows... Why is that funny?"</p><p>Martin stifled his giggle. "'Cause you're ridiculous."<br/>The grim look he received was hysterical. He had to laugh, right in Jon's face. Had to.</p><p>"Because I don't see cows regularly?"<br/>"Yes!" Martin, still laughing, nodding from behind the hand he had over his mouth.<br/>Jon threw up his hands. "I've seen one <em>now</em>. It was great. Lovely. A very good cow."<br/>Martin wiped at his eyes. "It's a <em>really</em> good cow." The cow in question was down the slope, pulling out the roots of a dandelion.<br/>"Yes. Very good. Lots of...", Jon gestured. "Cow."<br/>"Gahh", Martin said, pulling his scarf over half his face. "Please stop making me laugh."</p><p>Jon seemed to be fully onto what he was doing now. So he put on a very sour face and a low voice. "No."</p><p>"I said don't!", said Martin, breathing in bursts. "I'm gonna be all... cry faced."</p><p>"Why do you care about your face, there's no one here."<br/>Martin pressed his whole face into the wool. "Just- Haaah."</p><p>"Your face is fine", Jon said. "Also none of that was funny."</p><p>Martin coughed. Then, because, because they were both done eating, and he was feeling daring and light-headed, and because he just might get away with it, because he had his face hidden -- he leaned sideways into Jon's chest, coming to rest with his face just at his collar. Jon instantly froze. Martin became aware that this was the opposite of smooth. There was no good escape route from here if he-<br/>Jon's arm circled round his shoulder, holding firm. The rest of him moved a little, adjusted. Martin peeked out from his hands and scarf. Then they sat like this. Like they'd always meant to do that. Here. Like they'd ended up here on purpose. Like there was no reason not to. Never had been.</p><p>Martin took a deep, deep breath. He'd forgotten how close having-laughed felt to having-cried. He put his hand on the other side of Jon's coat, holding some of the fabric. Then, when he spoke, he really did sound like he was crying.<br/>"Jon?"<br/>"Martin."<br/>"Thank you. For holding my hand."</p><p>A finger brushed his ear when Jon moved his arm to touch his hair. Another tear rolled down Martin's face, and this one he couldn't blame on still-wet eyes. His next breath didn't want to come evenly and then Jon put both his arms around him and let Martin soak the side of his coat with his face, even though it was a nice coat. Even though it was cold. Even though Martin hadn't felt sad just moments before. Even though he'd already let Martin hold his hand so much today. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi everyone, this is my first fic so I'd massively appreciate any feedback in the comments!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cabin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Now where'd she say the hidden key was?"<br/>Jon blew air out through his mouth. "<em>'The tree that looks like a rake'</em>", he said.<br/>"What? That's what all trees look like, Jon."<br/>"That's what she said."<br/>"Well that's-" Martin looked around. <br/>Jon looked a bit defeated. "...I thought there'd be less trees."</p><p>"You know what? You're the Avatar of finding things out, and <em>I</em> have very sore legs, so I'm going to have a sit-down."<br/>They'd been looking at the goddamn trees. All of them. And for some reason Jon thought breaking open the door wasn't 'an option'.<br/>Jon gave him a sour look, but voiced no objections.</p><p>The cabin was a bigger than he'd thought, walking up to it. That isn't to say it was big. But the upper floor windows looked of decent size, even if they were cut to accommodate the slant of the roof. A metal weathercock sat crooked on the front of it and the untreated wood of the exterior was rough and very very dark. The curtains were drawn and looked heavy. </p><p>There was a narrow porch with four steps leading up to it and no railing, and the wood ate his footsteps hollowly. Looking over the side of it Martin spotted some mismatched flower pots, some tipped over, some holding only dried up stalks and weeds. They didn't look all that ancient. Had Daisy put them there? Seemed unlikely.<br/>He sat down, with his legs dangling over the side of it. The wood was plenty splintery on the edges. Looking at this, there might be enough space to fit two chairs here, facing the hillside...</p><p>From behind him there was the jangle of keys. Jon looked much too victorious. Also a little more tired than he had a minute ago. Cheater.<br/>"You weren't very thorough", he said. <br/>Martin crossed his arms. "I'm gifted in other ways."</p><p>Jon pushed the keys in the lock, but there was no sound of the door opening. Just that of a scuffle, and Jon cursing under his breath. Seeing as Jon had just called him a blind bat, Martin wasn't very inclined to get up and help. Eventually Jon made a strained sound, and there was the heavy scrape of wood on wood. He walked a few steps. There was the click of a light switch being flicked on. Flicked off then on again. Jon sighed. "There's supposed to be... Ah." And his footsteps retreated further into the house.</p><p>Martin figured as fun as it sounded listening to Jon mutter dour things into a fuse box he should rather give his knees some time to recover and skip this part.</p><p>__</p><p>"Jon?"<br/>The front entrance led straight into a large living room, rather sparse except for two cupboards and a thinning rug with a sofa in the middle. The sofa was covered with a plastic dust cover, thrown over quite carelessly. At least it was facing the two largest windows, the sofa, and rounding it Martin discovered a small knee-height table set in front. Also, set roughly on the floor atop what looked like an apple crate, a truly last-decade looking television atop a VCR with buttons rubbed pale with use. </p><p>The fireplace was nice and big, at least, set right into the wall, some lonely logs left by the side of it. It was blackened and filled with ash so high some of it had travelled onto the floorboards like the ice of a glacier. It mingled well with the dust - everything was dusty here. Where sunlight snuck through cracks in the curtains, particles swirled lazily and thickly, making sharp edges of the light.</p><p>When he turned there was a kitchen range that looked bare but serviceable. He hummed. Maybe not so sparse after all.</p><p>Wrapping his arms around himself, Martin walked into the small corridor that led off from past the stairs, peered into a small, ugly bathroom with a sink, a mirror and a tiled section of the room that served as a shower apparently, no curtain. Now that he wasn't marching uphill after Professional Impatient Powerwalker Jonathan Sims he began to feel the chill of the land. It would take days of heating to come out of the bones of the house.</p><p>"Jooon?", he sang into the rest of the cabin, not quite sure where he'd gone off to. There wasn't a basement, surely. He really hoped there wasn't. Daisy shouldn't have access to a quiet, remote basement like this, at least not one Martin had any opportunity to lay eyes on.<br/>"I'm fixing the lights!", came Jon's voice from round the corner of the hallway behind the staircase. Some sort of storage cupboard? Then he said something else, not directed at Martin, that might've been an unkind word or two.<br/>"Be careful. I don't want to find out if the Watcher will help you out with electrocution!" Martin turned to check out the upstairs. On his way up the stairs wheezed and cracked.</p><p>The upstairs was all bedroom, but felt smaller for the slant of the walls made by the roof. Another ineffective dustcover lay across the bed - one double bed. Martin tested the thin-looking mattress with a hand, and at least there wasn't the nail-curling squeak of brittle springs.<br/>There was a nightstand on each side. One was empty, the other had a small bedside lamp and when Martin opened the drawer he found a pair of red reading glasses. He'd never seen Daisy wear glasses.<br/>Looking at them, Martin sat on the bed - not as hard as it looked. Did Jon prefer a hard mattress? He'd have to ask him later. Hm. Later. He an Jon. Having to sleep. This was a problem. Was it a problem? Guess there was a sofa, in case... That was silly. He was being silly.<br/>Having put the glasses back he stood and opened the curtains, and instantly had to cough the musty air back out of his throat. The windows were fiddly but he got them propped open alright.</p><p>He came downstairs to find Jon rolling up his shirtsleeves, holding a broom in the crook of one arm.<br/>"I turned the water on but I haven't checked it yet." <br/>Martin realised the ceiling lamp was on now, though it was an old, weak bulb, one of those that made a really orange light.<br/>He went over to the kitchen sink and turned the knob. First there was nothing, then the faucet sputtered noisily and wept a few drops that eventually turned into a thin trickle that made Martin impatient just looking at it.<br/>"Well. At least we won't die of thirst."<br/>"Give it a minute", Jon said over the sounds of broom bristles fighting wood. Martin let himself observe a moment.<br/>"The bed looks nice", Martin said innocently.<br/>"That's good. Can you get these windows open?"</p><p>________</p><p>When the worst of the dust was out of the way, Jon had a sitdown on the couch while Martin tried his best to shovel ash out of the fireplace without making a whole mess all over again. Jon was digging in his backpack a tad impatiently, not taking out any of the bigger items hindering him, just wrestling. Eventually he produced a rolled-up swath of papers.</p><p>"Why did you have these again?", Jon asked, leafing through the spottily copied papers, pencil notes thick in the margins.<br/>Stocking up at his place before the train ride, Martin had had a brief moment of presence to open up a drawer and bundle up a small stack of papers tight to stuff into Jon's bag.</p><p>"Well. You used to give research jobs to either Sasha or whoever was around at the time, so Sasha, Tim and I started reading ahead a bit, seeing who wanted to research what, and then when you were done reading one that I wanted the two of them would go on break or something."</p><p>He felt Jon stare at him. "That's why they took so many breaks?" For someone who'd just taken a whole day's worth of great pains to go into hiding from his entire job, he sure sounded offended by these work ethics.</p><p>"Hm well. Tim did go on break a lot regardless... Did you think it was on accident he ended up on all the talk-y, front-desk inquiries and I did on the outdoors ones? And Sasha liked the ones where she didn't have to leave her desk at all." Martin stifled a cough that tasted of coal and rocked back on his heels.</p><p>"Hm", Jon said, eventually smiling the sad smile he had when thinking about the others.<br/>Groaning, Martin stood, patting the ash off of his knees. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure most of these you've read by now but I always grabbed a bunch of incongruous numbers for variety."<br/>Jon had already begun separating out the statements, just reading the case numbers.</p><p>"Also, sorry about all the notes on them. Maybe don't read those. They weren't meant for, ehm. Showing anyone." He remembered one statement in particular, given by a horridly entitled lady who he'd disliked so much he begun commenting on her poor, poor life decisions. It hadn't been a think-nice-things sort of day.</p><p>Jon immediately thumbed to a heavily annotated page, raising an eyebrow. "'<em>Remind Jon that people don't become idiots just because they are in mourning.'</em> "</p><p>Martin smirked. "I said <em>not</em> to read them."<br/>"Poignant", said Jon, clicking his tongue. "...<em>And</em> you forgot to do it, I seem to recall."</p><p>"If you're going to have one now I wanted to do some unpacking in the upstairs anyway."<br/>"I'm just seeing... how many we've got", Jon said, distracted now. Most of the papers he'd put aside.</p><p>"...How many do you usually have? In a week?" Martin was by the sink now, washing his hands thoroughly. The water came in a fairly even sputter now, and was so cold it felt scalding.<br/>"...Jon?"<br/>Jon didn't answer, just aligned the edges of the small stack he had in his hands still.</p><p>"We'll just call Basira soon then", Martin said, stepping back into the room drying his hands with a dish towel.<br/>Jon made a face  "Could... Maybe you could call her?"<br/>"Why?"<br/>"Well I'm sure she'll be glad to hear from you, that you're okay and, and- And also... She's not a fan. Of me with the... My 'eating habits'. Bit of a sore spot."<br/>"Alright alright. I'll call the scary police officer for you." Tossing the towel over his shoulder Martin leaned against the tall end of the sofa.<br/>"'Not police any more'", Jon said as if he was repeating famous words. "...Otherwise this would be a whole lot less complicated."<br/>He looked tired now. Martin didn't like the look of that. He found some of his old cheeriness and put it on. <br/>"Why don't you have your snack and we'll figure it out in a bit?"</p><p>__________</p><p>"Anyway, I don't think Keats saw an actual ghost woman and wrote about it." Jon had that old look he had when he was being combative but couldn't back it up.</p><p>"You don't know that. There for sure are some poets who had encounters with a Fear", Martin said, thinking. "Poe, Dickinson... Coleridge."<br/>"I'm sure their works all record digitally."<br/>Oh. "Oh. Maybe there are some that don't and we just don't know them! In this day and age, you know."<br/>"I'm sure if there was there'd already be papers on it."<br/>"Coleridge wasn't actually able to write down all of Kubla Khan, famously so."<br/>"Did he? I'm not familiar."<br/>"You haven't read Coleridge? He's so in your wheelhouse!"<br/>Jon made a face like all of poetry wasn't anywhere near his wheelhouse. Like when he'd built his wheelhouse he'd deliberately made it so that it was facing away from the poetry.</p><p>Martin tapped his chin. "The Ancient Mariner could actually be a second-hand account. It's told from the perspective a the wedding guest, not by Coleridge himself." </p><p>He strained his memory. Martin had actually gone and re-read the poem at some point. After one of the Fairchild cases? Before that he'd just found it rather dreary.<br/>"<em>'Water, water, every where, and all the boards did shrink;</em><br/><em>Water, water, every where, nor any drop to drink.</em><br/><em>The very deep did rot, O Christ, That ever this should be!</em><br/><em>Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs, upon the slimy sea.'</em>"</p><p>"Eugh", Jon said with some surprise. "That's actually... Yeah."<br/>"See? And... I dunno. I just think there's so much literature. There's no way some of it isn't rooted in the supernatural. And especially old writing. They didn't have the problem of laptops fritzing out on them did they."<br/>"Point."</p><p>The sun had already gone down by the time they'd gotten dinner together. Between all the housework and Martin taking off to get food time had passed so quickly. Now they were sat in front of emptied plates, finished with food but not conversation.</p><p>Jon had been listening to Martin with his chin resting in hand. Now he let himself sink back into his chair, stretched his arms, elbows popping.</p><p>"Tired?", Martin asked, realising that he wasn't. But he should be, shouldn't he? A hell of a day today. Maybe he'd been tired at some point but stopped feeling it. "...Sorry if I got rambly."</p><p>Jon waved a hand, visibly annoyed. "You have to stop apologising so much."<br/>"S- It's a habit."<br/>"A bad one." Jon gave him a stern smile and got up, taking their plates.</p><p>_________</p><p>Martin looked into the mirror. He was done brushing his teeth and combing his hair and organising his toiletries and washing his face, even though he'd got out of the shower clean. Then he just stood, looked at himself.<br/>He was a bit redder on the cheeks than usual - windswept from all the walking outside. Maybe there was even a hint of a sunburn on his nose, from when the clouds had let up for the last stretch of the way. If that was the case he suspected there may be a few new freckles there by tomorrow...<br/>He looked okay. He looked like Martin.</p><p>He yawned. Now he could feel it - feel properly tired. From a day of going places and getting things done that needed doing. He looked tired like he'd earned it. Tired for normal reasons. Human ones.<br/>He should get to bed. Jon was probably upstairs already.</p><p>Scratching his shoulder underneath the sleeve of his sleep shirt he put his toothbrush cup on the other side of the sink. Put it back on the earlier side.</p><p>He wandered into the living room, now dark, and reached into the cupboard and filled a glass of water. Nipped at it. The view out the window was dark, no lights, not even in the distance. It was quiet safe for the wind - and all the other noises that he had to assume were due to the wind. </p><p>The fire was down to embers. He put another two logs in, hoping it would stay warm overnight.<br/>Wiping the splinters and bark off his hands he stood, the bones in his legs protesting. Bed, then. Bed.</p><p>God these stairs were loud. At least there would be no guessing around where anyone was in the house.</p><p>Of course Jon had picked the side wih the reading lamp, the right side, flipping through one of the magazines they'd found downtairs - all really weird, obscure stuff: gun spare parts catalogues or, or <em>Car Boot Safety Lock Weekly</em> etc. That kind of thing. Whatever Jon had there likely was equally hair-raising judging by the perturbed frown on his face.</p><p>"Hi", Martin said for no reason. Jon looked up, quizzical. Why'd he done this.<br/>He gave a flimsy laugh. "I'm just... This is a bit weird isn't it?"<br/>Jon cocked his head, his legs moved slightly under the blanket he had pulled up to his hip.</p><p>"Is it?"</p><p>Martin felt like he was looking up from a hole he'd just dug for himself. As to not dig it any deeper he shut his mouth and shrugged, then hurried up to his side of the bed and lifted the blanket.<br/>The warmth of the hearth was barely noticeable up here - at least the air still felt icy on his bare feet and arms.<br/>As he laid down he suddenly felt the weight of the day and let out a deep, long sigh. He turned to Jon, resting his cheek on one hand.</p><p>"What's that you're reading?"<br/>Jon reached up to fish the glasses off his face, and with the back of the hand rubbed his eyes.<br/>"Dreadful", he said, flipping the magazine shut. Martin saw the flash of a fingerprint graphic that looked to be all the way from the nineties before Jon leaned away to toss it by the nightstand.</p><p>Jon had his hair in a loose braid and was wearing one of Martin's shirts. It was one that he'd rarely ever worn, it was a little tight for him. But on Jon it looked ridiculous. The collar alone was loose enough it almost didn't cover one of his shoulders. Martin could follow the trail of oval scars that went up that side of him all the way from clavicle to hairline. </p><p>One time Tim had shown Martin the extent of the scars the worms had left on him, pulling up his shirt in the break room, pointing at his own abs. Tim stuff. He'd fallen on the floor face-first, Tim had, when the CO² went off, so he'd ended up with an even smattering of scars across his face and sort of around his body but sparing the middle of his chest and stomach, where he'd fallen onto them and crushed most. Jon only had the one side of his face scarred, so he must've fallen onto the side. He'd always wondered how many there must be. How long they must've hurt. How long they must've... crawled.</p><p>"You want I turn off the light?", Jon asked.<br/>Martin couldn't think of a reason to say no. No, not particularly. He could've stood to stare at Jon for another hour or so.<br/>Instead of answering, Martin reached across the mattress, palm up. Smiling, Jon reached for the switch and the room became dark. A few seconds later, Jon's hand slipped into his, warm and firm.</p><p> </p><p>_________________________<br/>_________________________</p><p>Martin woke up with his face against something solid. Something that wasn't a pillow. His eyes snapped open, but he couldn't really see anything except in the corner of his eyes he could tell that the sun was up. He moved his face away.<br/>It was Jon. He'd had his face against Jon's chest, both arms wrapped around his torso. Jon had his hand losely behind Martin's head, and it slipped onto his neck now, light and limp. His whole body was curled slightly, his head just barely not touching the headboard. This couldn't be comfortable.<br/>When had they got like this? Martin didn't remember waking up. Didn't remember falling asleep either.<br/>He extracted his arm from under Jon, carefully, so he wasn't laying at such a bad angle. Then, having gotten started, he got all the way out of bed, quietly.<br/>Jon didn't even stir.</p><p>Seeing that Jon had slept soundly through all of that, Martin didn't bother so much trying to sneak down the stairs- a futile idea either way, since they creaked no matter where you stepped on them.</p><p>It was when looking in the bathroom mirror he discovered lines of dried tears down his face, starting at the corners of both his eyes. Hm. He rubbed at them but that just smudged the salty remains evenly across his cheeks.<br/>Was this it? Had Martin cried in his sleep and Jon had heard? How late had it been? Had Jon been able to get any sleep at all, with Martin holding onto him so tight? He washed his face.</p><p> </p><p>While the kettle was going Martin turned to the fireplace, which had gotten dark and cold. He should've put on a sweater, actually, before coming down. But the stairs were so bad, and he really didn't want to wake Jon.</p><p>Balling up old newspapers Martin stared into the hearth. Having a log fire seemed like such a charming, happy-cracklig thing. You could set your shoes down by it, stare at it for hours, maybe even make a stew... But there was constant work to it. You had to build it, and watch it, take care of it. Feed it but not smother it. Soon they'd have to haul in some more wood from the stack behind the house, and it would be slightly damp and not want to burn quite right, and hiss and sputter if it did. Doing all of this daily, they'd probably get a tired of it soon...<br/>Soon they'd also run out of <em>matches</em> if they kept breaking like that. God. Where did Jon keep his lighter? Oh, wait.</p><p>Martin watched the little flame he'd managed to produce take a hold of a paper corner and slowly it began to lick at the kindling. Sighing, he sat down on the floorboards.<br/>Guess they'd either get tired of it or just... better at it. Eventually.<br/>The kettle started to hiss.</p><p>__</p><p>Jon took a while waking up. Martin got all the way done washing the spare sheets and hanging them outside. Now the smell of the bed wouldn't be all Empty Cabin any more. Actually he got all the way done with that and mostly done with breakfast.</p><p>"Morning", Martin said cheerily, but Jon just scratched at the first hints of stubble on his cheek.<br/>"Please. It's hardly morning any more", he said, somewhat guiltily.</p><p>Martin tried to think of something funny to say but Jon spoke before he could. "How are you feeling?" His voice carried concern.<br/>"Better", Martin said, and gave Jon a quick smile.<br/>"Good. That's good", Jon said, still looking at him. Martin realised he was still wearing pajamas plus his jacket from when he'd hung the wash outside. It was warmer this way. But it must look rather stupid.</p><p> </p><p>"I thought maybe we should take a walk later. You know. 'See the sights'?" Jon had his cup by his mouth, but had started talking before he could take a sip.<br/>Martin just nodded emphatically, his mouth full.<br/>Jon lifted the mug from his face again, thinking of something else, "I also thought about bringing in some of the wood, stack it by that wall? It'll have some time to get dry that way."<br/>Martin hadn't thought of that.<br/>"Yeah! Watch out not to bring any spiders along, though. I'm tired of having to save you all the time."<br/>Jon pursed his lips, he clearly hadn't considered the critter-crawly side of bringing firewood into the house.<br/>Martin dug his fork into his eggs. "It's a good idea though. I had to re-kindle the fire twice today."</p><p>Jon hummed, but his face said that he was still thinking about spiders.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you mind if I borrow this?"<br/>Martin turned around and found Jon on the stairs, with no shirt on, holding up one of Martin's least baggy sweaters. Martin couldn't think of an answer right away, he was wrestling with the nonsensical urge to turn around or cover his eyes or <em>something.</em><br/>"I- We packed it for you."<br/>"Good. Just checking."</p><p> </p><p>"You got your-" Jon was already turning Martin around to pull the hood of his sweater fully out of the collar of his jacket.<br/>"Ah. Thanks", Martin said, feeling the skin at the back of his neck prickle. Jon continued fussing with his collar.<br/>"Jon I can dress myself."<br/>"Hrm", Jon said, doubtfully.</p><p> </p><p>Martin stuffed his hands into his jacket against the wind while Jon got the door closed. "Is it colder than yesterday?"<br/>"Not by much", Jon said, looking around.</p><p>"Where should we go first?", Martin took a few steps. Jon wasn't following. He turned to see Jon holding out his hand. Awkwardly, Martin extricated his own from his pocket and took it.</p><p> </p><p>The land around the cabin was grassy, hilly, lovely. Surprise! More Highlands. They started off without a clear path, though Jon wanted to go uphill to see if he could get a signal on his phone, which, good luck with that.<br/>The area here was certainly less farmed, probably because of the constant changing angles of the hills. Also lack of roads.<br/>They found the edge of a forest further up and skirted along it. One time Jon was sure he had a bar and Martin watched him climb onto rocks and futzing with his phone for a <em>while</em>.<br/>Then they followed along a small trickle of a river across an even field, mainly because Martin got tired of walking uphill. Eventually they found a bench, ancient, wooden-black, just sitting in the landscape, put there by God knew who. They sat down on it, idly, not a thing to do but look into the fields ahead and watch the grass bend in waves with the wind.</p><p>Jon pulled his collar closer and stifled a yawn.</p><p>"I'm sorry I woke you." Martin had his shoulders pulled up, with both hands on the bench.<br/>"It's fine, you were- I didn't really think you were awake for that."<br/>"I wasn't, I just guessed."</p><p>"Martin", Jon had the tone of someone correcting an 8-year-old about how gravity worked. "You can't be sorry for when you were <em>asleep</em>."<br/>"I guess not." Then he whinced. "...I didn't <em>say</em> anything did I?"<br/>"Er, no? Do you normally talk in your sleep?"<br/>"Not that I know of."</p><p><em>Do you normally talk in your sleep?</em><br/>For some reason Martin's stomach did a dip. Something about Jon's tone. Like it was something he should know. In future. Should know about Martin's sleeping quirks because - Because. From now on...<br/>Martin rubbed his palms against the wood of the bench. They were sweaty.</p><p>"I can't believe we did all this walking and haven't found any more cows", Jon said, as if chastising the land.<br/>"There's some to the South, towards the village."<br/>"Did you pet them too?"<br/>"Mayybe."<br/>Jon made an amused sound. "Without me?"<br/>Could he have said a worse thing? A more perfect thing. Martin gripped the bench.</p><p>"Jon I have to ask something." He had to. Or he'd never ask it.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>Nearly all of yesterday Martin had managed not to think about it. They'd had travelling to worry about and he'd still been a little numb. Everything had still been a lot. Like everything was up in the air, including Jon. Until... Until they'd stopped by the cows. And sat together, hugging. And held hands. And shared a bed. And-</p><p>He let his feet kick out like he was just idling about.</p><p>"There's a tape. And I know, I know it's just, you know, 'office gossip' but there <em>is</em> a tape. From the- It's the one where Melanie and Basira are talking. Where Melanie says - about you -", Martin had expected Jon to interrupt him by now, for sure, "That you don't-", he felt really weird saying the word. "...date."</p><p>Jon drew a halting breath. "I know what the tape says."<br/>"I just-"<br/>"I know what the tape says", he repeated, annoyed. "And it's not that."<br/>Martin frowned. "It's not?" He was pretty sure. He remembered it well, because he'd almost dropped the tape recorder into his lunch when he'd gripped it, realising Melanie wasn't going to turn off the recorder, even though they were talking about-<br/>He saw Jon's hands fiddle with a loose thread on his coat, twisting it around his finger tightly. He looked like he'd sooner leave at a full sprint rather than elaborate.</p><p>"So what <em>did</em> she say then?"<br/>He tried to ask it like this was interesting. As if it wasn't important. He was making <em>conversation</em>.</p><p>"It's not important what she said", Jon said, looking intently at his lap.<br/>Oh. Why did he have to bring it up. He could have just <em>not</em>. He really could have.<br/>"Yeah but I'd like to understan-"<br/>"What she <em>said</em>-" Jon pressed his lips shut, then continued more slowly, "Is nothing. Just that I <em>don't</em>. What you're asking. Is what she <em>meant</em>. So." He drew a breath as if to speak. Right then the thread snapped. Jon looked at it like he'd quite forgotten that he was in the middle of a conversation. His fingertip was pale from cut off blood. He proceeded to grind out the words like they hurt.</p><p>"What she meant was... Sex. She's talking about sex. That I don't-- like to have it."</p><p>Martin had the presence of mind to not react. At all. Then, he made sure that his voice didn't go any higher than normal.</p><p>"But you do date?"</p><p>He did an okay job. Not a <em>great</em> job though.</p><p>Jon made an odd face. "Yes? I did date Georgie, so."<br/>His expression teetered between a frown and plain confusion. "Ma-"</p><p>"Are we dating, then?"</p><p>Jon almost laughed, surprised. "I, ehm. Yes. I thought w- If- If you'd like? ...Would you like? Martin?"</p><p>"Yep!"<br/><em>God</em>. How did he do worse than <em>Jon</em>. Yep.</p><p>"I mean yes. I would like."</p><p>Relief came over Jon's face and built a house there. He started smiling. Stopped smiling. Started back up again. Martin couldn't really feel his own face at the moment. He reached out to hold Jon's hand, and they did that for a while. Jon leaned against Martin. Martin leaned against Jon.</p><p>"So... Do you mind? The other -?" Jon was looking out into the field again.</p><p>"Mh? Oh. I mean... Honestly, I think sex is nice? But I don't really- Care? It's <em>you</em>, Jon. And I want to be with you."</p><p>The fact that he could feel Jon exhale probably meant that he hadn't done much of it since he last spoke. He held his hand even tighter.</p><p>"I'd love for you to explain more sometime. But - It's because I want to know you, not because it's important."</p><p>He had his head on Jon's shoulders so had to turn up his eyes to see Jon nod, looking a little forlorn. Also happy. Happy forlorn.</p><p>Martin badly wanted to reach out and tuck the loose hair blowing into Jon's face behind his ear. He also wanted to forever remember how he looked, right now, loose hair and all. Wanted to make him smile. Wanted to-</p><p>"One last question though?", Martin asked then, remembering something.<br/>"Mh?"</p><p>"How do you feel about kissing?"</p><p>He'd lifted his head, meaning to watch Jon stammer. But Jon didn't stammer like he was supposed to. Instead he brought a hand up to Martin's collar. And leaned in close. And kissed him. On the lips. Not even. That long.</p><p>A moment later Jon put his forehead against Martin's and looked at him like he was checking something. Martin felt like he was falling. Then he remembered to breathe. Jon came back into focus.</p><p>"Oh", Martin mouthed, his voice elsewhere. "...Nice."<br/>He touched Jon on the cheek, just to see if he was allowed. Evidently he was, so he tried to kiss him back. It felt clumsy and ill-practised and very very good. Kissing Jon felt like breathing. Like he should've been doing it all along. Like it would have solved a lot of his problems.</p><p>It was hard, kissing while smiling, but Martin made a further attempt anyway. Then he felt Jon's mouth tense up as well and couldn't help but giggle. <br/>"Don't laugh!", Jon said, laughing.<br/>Martin switched to chuckling through his nose and let his head fall against Jon's shoulder, but their faces remained barely an inch apart. He pressed a kiss to Jon's cheek, because he could.</p><p>"What's funny?", Jon said. His face radiated warmth.<br/>"Me", Martin said feeling like his brain was made of air. "Was it silly that I had to ask?"<br/>Jon's brows twitched. "Which -?"<br/>"If we - How you feel. Though I guess I didn't ask you how you feel. ...How <em>do</em> you feel?" He wasn't doing this in quite the right order it felt like.<br/>"About...? You?"<br/>Martin nodded, trying to wrangle the giddyness inside.</p><p><br/>"Well, er. Didn't we just-" Pause.<br/>"I mean I feel-" Pause.<br/>There it was, the stammering. He did that fantastic thing where he formed words with his mouth but not much came out.<br/>Then he took Martin's face into both hands, a bit exasperated, and locked his eyes with Martin's.<br/>"When I went into the Lonely, it was either come back with you, or not at all."</p><p>Martin was stunned.<br/>Immediately Jon lost his all of his intensity. "Don't cry! I was trying to-"<br/>"I'm not."<br/>"All I'm saying is -"<br/>"I'm really not." Martin's laugh was high. "I'm not crying I just...", he pulled his shoulders up, let them fall. Maybe a shrug, maybe nothing. He felt a lot of things at the moment. Sad wasn't one of them.</p><p>Jon frowned. "Well don't laugh, either."<br/>"Ha!" Martin snorted and raised his hands. "You can't tell me what to do! I'll laugh and cry when I want, thanks. What are you going to do, stop me?"<br/>"Maybe." Jon gave a wobbly grin.</p><p>"Maybe", he said again, more earnestly, and kissed him just as earnestly. A proper kiss, a long kiss, a kiss for grown-ups. No laughing. He did get Martin to stop laughing eventually, when he ran his fingers through his hair and along his neck. Touched him softly on the cheek.<br/>Martin couldn't keep his eyes closed. Nor open. At some point he'd thrown both arms around Jon, elbows resting on his shoulders. At some point he'd ran a hand over his hair, finally tucked that one pesky bit behind Jon's ear. At some point Jon had wound up with both hands under his jacket collar, right on the skin. He had given up on being all gentle, Jon, at some point. Had an urgency to him. It didn't feel unfamiliar. It felt like Jon. Like he'd left something undone too long. And he'd finally blocked in some time on the calendar to sort it out.<br/><br/>A sigh snuck past Jon's vocal chords, low and lost, apparently surprising himself. He cleared his throat and put a hand against Martin's shoulder that had zero strength behind it, but Martin leaned back all the same.<br/>The composure Jon put on his face was about as firm as his hand was. His eyes were soft and his glasses at an angle. Martin adjusted them, knowing that if he tried to speak now, he'd fail. So he said nothing, just let Jon lean against him. His forehead landed on Martin's chin, begging for a kiss, so he gave it.</p><p>__</p><p> </p><p>Walking home seemed much shorter somehow. Maybe because it wasn't uphill. Maybe because they didn't stop all the time to argue about how cell phones worked. Maybe because they <em>did</em> stop, all the time, to figure out who should put an arm around the other, or to kiss and giggle or just to look at the butterfly Jon didn't know the name of.</p><p>When it began to rain they did pick up the pace, but neither of them complained. Honestly, it had been a blessing that it <em>hadn't</em> rained on them yet. This was kind rain. Rain that had waited all day yesterday, for them to arrive. Let them sit by the good cows. Go on a walk today, find a bench in the middle of nowhere. It was a good rain.<br/>Martin gave a sniffle. Jon gave his shoulder a knowing squeeze.</p><p>"Is it the rain?", he asked.<br/>Martin wiped his sleeve at his eyes. "Mh-m."<br/>"It's not long now", Jon said.<br/>"No", Martin croaked. "It's- I'm happy. Really happy."<br/>Jon stopped. When he kissed Martin, he could hear the rain drum on both their hoods at the same time.<br/><br/><br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the passage Martin recites is from "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Happy Forlorn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You know I found some whisky by the toolbox", Jon said, smoothing Martin's hair down so he could rest his chin on his head.<br/>"Really?", Martin said, far more interested in finding a good place to rest his arm across Jon's chest.<br/>"Would be good for getting warm."<br/>"Did Daisy have good taste in whisky?"<br/>"No", Jon said without hesitation.<br/>"Guess then we won't feel bad if we drink it?"<br/>"Heh... Yes. It's not too early is it?"<br/>Martin sighed happily into the space where the sinews of Jon's neck dipped into the clavicle making a little triangle right there.<br/>They'd come back from their walk soaked down to the socks, so what other choice was there except put on comfortable pants and lay down by the fire? They had yet to come up with any better ideas.<br/>"Hmno. Only problem is, you think I will let you get up again? Ever?"<br/>"Oh, I'm not allowed, am I?"<br/>Martin shook his head, slowly, burying his cheek further in the creases of Jon's shirt.</p><p>"How are you feeling?" Jon kept fussing with Martin's hair like he was fixing something. Hopefully whatever it was would stay unfixed, forever.<br/>Martin drew a languid breath. "Oh. Fine I guess", he said as if he was being made to suffer dreadfully. "I <em>suppose</em>."<br/>"Okay then." He heard Jon smile. "I'm glad."<br/>"I'll try to cry less, in future."<br/>"It's not that. I just- I worry."<br/>"I know I know." Martin turned his head so he wasn't muffling every word. "Honestly you're not wrong to? It's been-- But I'm not feeling lonely <em>now</em>." Leave it to Jon to bring down the mood at a fireside cuddle. He felt Jon's arm around him tighten slightly.<br/>"Feeling very un-lonely, actually", Martin said, doubling down. "Positively <em>together</em>."<br/>Jon's head moved in such a way that it was clear he was rolling his eyes. Martin lifted his head to laugh at him. He received what could be construed as a soft clap round the head.</p><p><br/>"I was just going to put some in my tea." Martin was holding his teaspoon.<br/>Jon was still stood holding the whisky bottle. "Sorry if it's not very- Festive."<br/>"Festive?"<br/>"I don't know about you but <em>I'm</em> feeling in a celebratory mood. And we don't have any wine, so -", Jon said. Then, he realised. "...Do you actually like wine?"<br/>"I like wine okay."<br/>"What do you like to drink then?" He wore a frown, the vaguely guilty kind. It was new.<br/>Martin shrugged. He hadn't had alcohol that had a taste in a while.<br/>"I usually have cider."<br/>"Noted."<br/>Jon sat and unscrewed the metal cap, smelled it cautiously. Looked at the label.<br/>Martin tapped the back of his spoon against his mouth. "Good or bad?"<br/>"I have no idea. Say when."</p><p><br/>"...Then he put his other hat back on, went back inside and said the exact same line but to the new security guard."<br/>Martin was covering his face with one hand. "He did not!"<br/>"...And he took quite a long time... Well. It must've worked because we ended up confirming that the factory wasn't torn down until after the fire, like the statement said." It was rare to see Jon smiling through whole sentences.<br/>Martin was grinning wickedly. "So did he - ?"<br/>"I don't know,<em> I</em> wasn't allowed back inside because of the -" Jon made a face and twirled his hand meaningfully.<br/>Martin laughed again. </p><p>"I always keep forgetting that you didn't start at the Institute as Head of the Archives. And that you two started out together."<br/>Jon took a generous sip from his glass. He didn't have any tea in his whisky at all. "Yes, shockingly I wasn't hired as head of anything straight out of Uni."<br/>There was a moment, a short moment, when Jon's face wavered, possibly thinking about reasons anyone got hired at the Institute for anything. Possibly thinking about... He snapped back into the moment.</p><p>"Point <em>is</em>. The point is, Tim is bi. I'm not bi. I'm - I'm not anything."<br/>"Two people can be bi, Jon."<br/>"Yea but it's not-" He shrugged into his glass. "It's not something I think about all that much."</p><p>"I guess that makes sense? I only brought it up because I-", Martin pulled his feet closer with his hands. He was sat cross-legged on the couch, facing Jon who had one leg dangling off of the edge, "I'd always <em>wondered</em>. I didn't know, did I? And then you go off, you stay with <em>Georgie</em>-"<br/>"You really need to lay off Georgie." <br/>Jon looked at him in the middle of putting his whisky down on the table and the glass landed a bit too hard.<br/>"I wasn't <em>going</em> to-"<br/>"You don't even like it when I talk about her."<br/>"That's not true!"<br/>Jon's eyes were steady when he raised his eyebrow. "And you did have that shouting match with her."<br/>"I didn't shout." Martin pursed his lips. Now that. Was definitely a lie he'd just told. A poor one. It was on tape. A tape <em>he</em>'d recorded. <br/>"I was just... disagreeing with her", he offered pointedly.</p><p>Jon's eyebrow hadn't yet come down. "...She wasn't wrong, you know."<br/>"About?"<br/>"About what you guys fought about. About <em>helping</em> people, me. It was really -"<br/>"Callous of her?"<br/>"What? No. Look. I understand the- the- the decision making, yours. But she had a point about... Helping the right person." <br/>"Jon I was working every day, dealing with Peter every day, to help you and she couldn't even be arsed to <em>talk</em> to you."<br/>"Because I was an ass! Because I brought a deranged clown into her home! She knew the statements were bad for me before <em>I</em> even knew. And she told me to quit them from the start. She- She could have turned me out on the street and probably should have because I hadn't talked to her in years and had nothing on me but a tape recorder and a shirt full of blood!"</p><p>It took Martin some energy not to cross his arms. Jon drew a breath, looking surprised that he'd gotten worked up. Lowered his arms, also surprised at them.</p><p>Martin knew it was petulant. He <em>knew</em> it. But he still said it, though quietly, "I wouldn't have turned you out on the street."</p><p>"Well you were supposed to be safe at home! Not all tangled up in this...", Jon griped at the air. "Murder stuff. And they would have found me immediately, you bloody worked there too."<br/>Also Martin hadn't been home, had he. He'd been in the corridors, with Tim. Running circles around corners with no bend to them. But he still wanted to hear it.</p><p>"So you did think about coming to mine?", Martin asked innocently into his cup, eyes looking at the wall behind Jon.<br/>Jon looked exquisitely confused, then his eyes narrowed. <br/>"Is that what this is about? That I didn't- ?"</p><p>Still very busy with sipping lukewarm tea with whisky in it, Martin shrugged pointedly.</p><p>Jon snorted. Laughed, at him. Martin didn't like it very much. <br/>Martin kept his mug raised like a defensive shield. "Why's that funny? I would've - I never for a second believed that you did it."</p><p>Jon was still grinning thoughtfully. "I don't know. You think that would have gone well?"<br/>Martin chewed on the inside of his lip, reminding himself of who he'd been back then. What Jon had been like. </p><p>"I dunno Jon. You think it went well the way it did go?"</p><p>Jon's grin slipped. <br/>"Point", he said, his amusement iced over somewhat.</p><p>Martin just remembered months and months of not knowing where Jon was - first worried about him and the police. Then worried about him and, well, literally <em>everything</em>. Later, when he was back, Jon spent so much time glossing over how many times he'd been nearly throat-slit, skyscraper-dropped, car boot murdered, skinned alive... Martin had just wanted to shake him by the shoulders, fold him up small into a blanket and keep him inside a safety deposit box. He still wanted to, sort of.</p><p>"Well", Jon offered conciliatorily, "My whole point was that I made mistakes. And lots of them."</p><p>Martin sighed, feeling like he'd pushed a little hard. "I know you did your best. I just wish you'd done better by yourself, you know?"<br/>Jon stopped scratching the knife scar on his throat, realising that he was doing it. "I could say the same to you."<br/>Martin had no retort to that.<br/><br/></p><p>When they both got their second teas it seemed rather a good time for a cooling off, so they put their jackets on over their sleep shirts and sat outside on the porch. It was still raining but it wasn't whipping sideways with the wind at least, and the roof had juuust enough of an overhang. Jon granted himself a cigarette. He fumbled with the match. Matches. The wind kept blowing them out. Martin used his hands to cup the front of his face and eventually they got it going.<br/>"Don't you have your lighter?"<br/>"It's somewhere", Jon said. "You really don't mind?"<br/>"I've never minded the smoking, I'm hardly gonna start now." Martin flipped his collar up. "Somehow I don't think lung cancer is coming for you. You didn't have a heartbeat for six months."<br/>Jon made a noise that wasn't quite sure whether this was grim or funny.</p><p>Scotland was still gorgeous in the rain, in the murky light of the cloud-smeared afternoon. Where the grass was tall it bent in a rhythm and where the trees were already bare the branches tickled the sky.</p><p>The smoke Jon blew from his mouth got carried off by the wind almost immediately. He didn't have his head ducked or his collar up, and he didn't hold the cigarette like it was a lifeline, not like he used to. He just sat there, the lines on his face smooth, eyes inward, wandering.</p><p>Martin leaned so their shoulders were together. "It's hard to just talk, isn't it? Without--"<br/>Jon let his legs and hand dangle over the porch, and flicked ash into the shiny grass. "Hm, it's good to talk. And we should. About everything. But maybe... not tonight?"</p><p>The querying smile he gave Martin warmed him warmer than any whisky could. Not today. We're in a <em>celebratory</em> mood. <br/>Martin reminded himself he didn't have to still his own face any more. Didn't have to put the fondness back inside. Realised that he could kiss him now, see if the taste of liquor and cigarettes would make him feel daring and younger, like they'd snuck away at a raunchy party somehow. <br/>It did.</p><p><br/>Back inside Martin felt even more like a teenager. Drinking stranger liquor, pulse racing, necking on an unfamiliar couch... The old heavy TV behind them seemed almost a comedic prop.</p><p>"You have got to stop laughing."<br/>Martin just had to laugh more at the exasperation on Jon's face. His confused half-smile. It must be hard for him. Laughing, crying. These days Martin did either at the drop of a dime and there was no way which to know why. <br/>"Sorry. Ticklish." It was hard, hiding your face when you're not in control of your laugh-weak arms, and you have a Jon just hovering there, with his whole face on and everything.<br/>"What, here?"<br/>"Stop it!" Martin's body curled in anticipation but Jon didn't actually put his hands back on his ribs, just pointed. <br/>"Noted", Jon said, like he was outlining a short report, one that was going rather well.</p><p>Instead he put his hands on Martin's shoulders, where they were safe, and tested out how close he could bring his face to Martin's before he became restless. But Martin stayed calm now, content to just let their noses touch together and feel all the little flutters of his heart - his small, underused heart. He'd treated it so poorly, really poorly, but Jon knew. He knew it. It was a bit like they were breathing the life back into it. Seemed to be working. Finally, Martin raised his head up from the armrest of the couch and what followed was slow, lazy almost, the kind of kiss that knew there was all the time in the world. That promised many, many more.</p><p>Martin didn't really know what he'd expected - he'd stopped expecting things so long ago - but it was probably not for Jonathan Sims to turn out to be a handsy drunk. Well, they weren't quite drunk, just tipsy and wound up and, and <em>new</em>. New together. Here together. The safehouse mixed an odd cocktail of hard wood and round edges, of soft voices and heavy locks -- ones that Jon always remembered to lock tight, even when distracted helping Martin out of a dripping rain jacket. It was all... yellowing doilies and grey, industrial-heavy curtains. Bare-bulb ceiling light and long path of kisses up the neck. Martin shut his eyes and observed how his own skin prickled with goosebumps. Jon hummed a response like he'd noted this down, too.</p><p>He put a whisper of a kiss on the selfsame spot and Martin decided he was past embarrassment and sighed loud and happy. He got his arms to work again and pulled Jon closer by the waist, waited for him to face him, then asked for more without using words. Jon granted it, down on one elbow, and he got Martin's toes to curl and his heart to hurt when he stopped, finally, to smile. The air between their faces had barely time to cool before Martin got his hands into Jon's hair. God, his hair.<br/><br/>There was nothing besides this now. Martin's head was empty, empty safe for the part that wanted to say Jon's name out loud but his mouth had business more urgent. <em>Jon, Jon, Jon, Jon.</em><br/>This time around, Jon rather lost some of his '<em>let's see how red we can get Martin to get</em>' brand of poise and he came a little off balance, melted a little more into Martin's chest, let his leg curl round Martin's leg.<br/>Martin expected Jon to break away at some point but he never did so it was him who had to come up for air, though he couldn't stand it. So he just kissed the side of his mouth, then a line across the cheek towards the ear. Jon was getting stubblier by the day, tickled Martin's already buzzing face. They caught their breath like this, cheek against cheek.</p><p>"Jon?"<br/>Jon hummed.<br/>"Can I do something a bit weird?" He was proud of himself for still being able to form the words okay.<br/>"Hm?"<br/>Martin moved a bit and Jon scooted back reluctantly. Martin sat himself up, Jon half sitting, half kneeling not-quite on his lap. Then Martin slung his arms around Jon's torso and put his head against his chest, ear above his heart.<br/>"...What are you-" Even though he barely murmured, Jon's voice was loud and sonorous in Martin's skull.<br/>"Shh."<br/>Martin closed his eyes. Listened to the heartbeat drum. It was nice and quick. Steady. Strong. He felt around for Jon's hand and put his thumb on the wrist. <br/>He felt Jon move his head, imagined his face of not-quite understanding. Martin inhaled deep, staving off a sniffle.<br/>Jon put an unsure hand on his head.<br/>There had been a time he'd held Jon's wrist like this, a lot. Jon didn't know this. How long Martin had sat by his bed. Waiting for his heart to start beating again.</p><p>"Are you alright?", Jon said softly against the top of Martin's head.<br/>"Yeah." He loosened his grip and gave Jon his hand back. "Yeah. Just checking."<br/>The question on Jon's face proved him right: He sort of understood, but not very. That was fair. Jon hadn't spent six months wondering whether his heart would start back up. Six months hadn't happened to him at all. All <em>he</em>'d done was neglect to die, which was rather well done of him overall.</p><p>Martin smiled, largely to prove he wasn't going to cry, no Sir. Jon's hair had fallen apart a little, which was very fetching, how it framed his face, so out of the usual. He liked to put it away tight but the Highland winds liked to foil him, as did Martin's needy hands apparently. And his eyes looked nice like this, half-lidded and soft-edged. Jon shifted his weight a bit. He was probably sitting a bit uncomfortably like this. <br/>Then he gave a nervous laugh. Martin realised he'd sort of. Stared up at Jon adoringly for a moment or twenty.</p><p>He cleared his throat and released Jon. They moved apart a little, Martin leaned back on his arms.<br/>He tried a wonky smile. "I did say it was going to be weird."</p><p>Jon huffed a laugh and climbed forwards to kiss Martin on the forehead, then got off the couch. <br/>"I'm going to make us some food."</p><p>Martin fought his immense need to recapture Jon, kiss him senseless, possibly trap him there forever.<br/>"Good idea."</p><p>He was referring to the idea of food, not necessarily the idea of Jon making it. He'd watched the man toast bread yesterday and that had been the most effort he'd ever seen him put into his diet, period.</p><p>______</p><p>Martin made it into bed first. After getting under the covers he fluffed up his pillow, then Jon's. Tried to see if it looked obvious if he moved them closer together. Put them back the way they were. Pulled the covers over his shoulders against the cold. The stairs wailed and creaked.</p><p><br/>"Have you seen where I put my...?", Jon said, looking down at his hands rummaging in the pockets of his joggers, his hair was loose and falling around his face in airy curls.<br/>"Your what?"<br/>"Hair tie", he said, rather obviously.<br/>"Oh. I haven't seen it."<br/>"I only brought the one", Jon said, rather concerned.<br/>"Can't you sleep without it?"<br/>"Mmmit's just. Inconvenient."<br/>"I'm afraid I don't have any", Martin gestured at his own head, trying to cement the joke. "Did you check in the bathroom cupboard? Maybe there's some old ones, you know."<br/>"What, from Daisy?", Jon said, confused.<br/>Martin rolled his eyes. "Well first of all people - <em>women </em>sometimes get different length hair, Jon. Secondly, I'm pretty sure Basira was here at some point."<br/>"What?"<br/>"Yea. Those are her glasses in that drawer are they not?"<br/>Jon's eyes followed where he pointed at the night stand.<br/>"Huh", he said. "She didn't say." He sat sat on the bed. Took his glasses off and put them on the nightstand. Tried to smooth his hair down. Braided it and twisted the ends with seemingly little hope. He sighed then threw himself into the pillow and onto his side facing Martin.</p><p>"Maybe I should cut it."<br/>"<em>No!</em>" Ludicrous. <br/>Martin reached over and smoothed some of the flyaways. "It's nice right now."<br/>"It gets in the way. Constantly."<br/>"Pff."<br/>Jon smiled, and Martin was suddenly sure he hadn't been at all serious.<br/>"Jooon", he said, full of suspicion. "Are you fishing for a compliment?"<br/>"I'm being practical."<br/>"You're being silly, is what."<br/>"It's my hair. I'm allowed to cut it."<br/>"<em>Obviously</em> you're allowed. But I'll buy you a million hair ties if that stops you." Gradually Martin had inched his face closer, intruding on Jon's pillow now.<br/>Jon seemed to give this all his consideration, ignoring Martin's hand on his waist. "You're really bad at bargaining."<br/>"Am not. It's an investment. Sound business decision."<br/>"Ah. Well in that case."<br/>They didn't talk more after that.</p><p>_____________</p><p>He felt it more than he heard it. He woke to a muffled mumble at his side. Something hard and tense brushing his arm. It was dark but in the wan moonlight he saw Jon's narrow shoulder twitch uneasily on his side of the bed. When Martin's eyes woke more he could trace a deep frown on Jon's face, could tell his eyes were moving under the lids. His breathing wasn't right at all.<br/>"Jon?", he whispered.<br/>The hand that had knocked against him was locked into a restless claw. Martin reached for it but just then Jon drew his arms close, made his body a tight bundle. Damp hair clung to his forehead.</p><p>"Jon." He shook him by the shoulder. "You're having a nightmare. <em>Jon</em>!"<br/>He was about to sit up when Jon woke and knocked his hand away with a heave.<br/>"Jon it's okay. It's me, it's me!" He tried to catch his wrist. "Just me."<br/>In the dim light he saw the glint of Jon's eyes, wild and wide.</p><p>"It's fine. You're fine." Martin tried to put a soothing hand on his face but Jon put an arm's length between them, still breathing tightly.<br/>Martin sat back, and Jon dropped his arms. Just lay there, breathing.<br/>"That bad?", said Martin.<br/>Jon made a vague noise.</p><p>"You want to tell me about it?"<br/>He heard him move his head, shaking it slowly against the sheets.<br/><br/>"Did I hit you?", Jon asked finally.</p><p>"Hm? No, I don't think."<br/>"Okay", he said with quiet relief.<br/>"Is there anything -"<br/>"It's fine. It's good you woke me."</p><p>Jon raised his hands and rubbed his face. Put his right forearm across his eyes.<br/>Martin laid back down, watching him at a distance.</p><p><br/>After a while Jon sat up. Swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His hair was all slept apart.<br/>Martin hugged his pillow. "Are you going?"<br/>"I'm going to get some air. You should go back to sleep."<br/>His back seemed so frail all of a sudden.<br/>"Okay", Martin lied.<br/>Jon stood and walked downstairs in bare feet.</p><p>Martin laid his head back down. Reached out to the empty side of the bed. The mattress was already cooling. He heard the front door.<br/>Okay. He'd asked Jon not to smoke in the house.<br/><br/></p><p>___________________<br/>___________________<br/><br/><br/>Martin woke alone. He knew right away that Jon wasn't there, before he opened his eyes. Before he was fully conscious.<br/>The bed wasn't big, not by any standard. At least he'd thought so up until last night. Now he looked across the empty side of it and it seemed like a whole landscape of crinkled sheets and balled-up pillow. With his face close to the mattress his eyes could take a whole day's walk across it. <br/>Sighing he rolled over. He didn't want to get up. Just wanted to lay there. Wait. Stare.</p><p>But he knew by now how to get up anyway, in the face of gaping emptiness where excitement for the coming day should be. He'd learned.<br/><br/>When he came down he found Jon asleep on the sofa, his cheek against his arm, the rest of which was dangling off of the edge. The table lamp on the coffee table was still on, shining onto a magazine that had fallen face-down onto the floor. Also on the tape recorder on the table, the crinkled statement copy underneath it. Martin thought about tugging the crooked glasses off of Jon's face to put them away, but he couldn't bring himself to go near him.</p><p>He made himself some tea and went outside. The sky was overcast and murky, the morning sun looked weak and scattered in the cloud cover. Martin had started wandering off before he'd made the decision to do so. It was probably a bad idea, but he didn't feel particularly worse out here than he had inside. It wasn't like the feeling was going to get him if he went on a walk. It wasn't a place.</p><p>It's hard to feel the cold sometimes. You can see the wind bend the trees, hear the night-frost hardened earth under your shoes. Watch the air dampen near the ground from the night cold stored there, making a low haze. But hands in pockets, collar drawn up high, Martin barely felt his own skin.</p><p>But he knew it was there, and he knew he'd hate to get sick. Later he'd curse himself. So, an hour later, he turned around.</p><p>Walking back, he remembered the day before. How different it had been. Maybe that was the one day he'd been given. One whole day of feeling. Feeling like Martin. Maybe Martin wasn't really who he was any more. Maybe he'd spent too much time ignoring Martin, making him into something else. Jon would have to make do on his own. Too bad for him. He wouldn't be fine on his own, not at all.</p><p><br/>There really wasn't anywhere else to read but in the living room. Martin decided not to go back upstairs. He'd just lay down again. No good. He moved a chair to the fireplace so the back was to the rest of the room and sat in it, book in lap.</p><p>Jon woke up late again. He heard him wake, slowly and unhappily, with lots of fussing around before he got to is feet. He didn't seem to notice Martin on the way to the bathroom. The fire gave a crackle. He wished it wouldn't be so loud.</p><p><br/>"Oh. Morning", Jon said, surprised-like, holding the kettle. "I'm sorry. I fell asleep", he said.<br/>"It's fine", Martin said, turning a page.<br/>"Do you want tea?", Jon asked.<br/>He did not. Jon made some anyway, and tried to hand it to him.<br/>"I said I'm fine", Martin said, frowning.<br/>"No you didn't."<br/>"I already had some."<br/>"Martin."<br/>"<em>Jon</em>." Finally he looked at Jon, and couldn't hide how annoyed he was.<br/>Jon almost took a step back.<br/>"Are you alright?"<br/>"Fine. I just already had my tea."<br/>"Is it because I slept down here? I just didn't want to keep you up I-"<br/>"I just want to read, okay?" He'd have snapped at him, if he cared. But he really didn't. "Alone."<br/>"Sorry."<br/>Jon looked hurt. He turned to walk away. Good. <br/>But he stopped. Looked at Martin. Bad.<br/>He didn't walk away. Instead he got a look on his face. He sat down on the floor, crossed his legs and put down both cups, one by each knee. He looked into the fire, and then glanced at Martin. Martin ignored him.</p><p>"Are you <em>sure</em> you're-"<br/>"Jon you can-", he stopped, then continued as diplomatically as possible, "I just want some more quiet."</p><p>"You know there's no chance I'm leaving this room right now", Jon just said quietly.<br/>Martin had his eyes shackled to the page numbers. <br/>Jon. You don't have to <em>know</em> everything all the time. You can just leave people be, for once. It's not that hard.</p><p>"I'm not a child", Martin said tightly.<br/>Jon was quiet.<br/>He could just get up. Get up and leave. Martin wouldn't be mad. He really wouldn't. He'd understand. He didn't like Jon constantly watching out. Constantly asking if he was okay. Feeling like he had to be there, all the time. Feeling like -- He could just <em>say</em> it. Could just say that it was a lot of work. That he couldn't possibly watch Martin all the time like a sickly pet. Martin already knew. He'd made his peace with it. That he was a lot sometimes, and clingy, and stupid to boot. That it wasn't worth it. It couldn't be.</p><p>Jon just sat there, both hands around his cup, turning it. <br/>"Do you want to know when I first realised that you - erm - had a thing for me?"</p><p>God, Jon. Now? Did he have to get okay at conversations <em>now</em>? On every other day he was a disaster. You had to pull these things out of him manually, but <em>no</em>-</p><p>He didn't wait for Martin to answer.<br/>"Tim was trying to annoy me. I guess he thought I'd already noticed." Jon gave a small grin, cast it Martin's way. Martin didn't see it. He saw the book in his lap that he hadn't read a single word of.</p><p>"He said '<em>Why do </em>you <em>always have the best mug? You don't deserve to have it every time'</em>. You know, the mug that you brought? With the, uh, bee? On it? It stayed warm the longest and it was really hard to knock over? <em>'Martin shouldn't give it to </em>you<em> all the time'</em>. And I thought, well, Martin just likes to use the same mug for the same people every time, because- because it's convenient and because he's sappy like that. Sorry. But then-"<br/>He took a tentative sip of his tea. "I saw that the dishwasher was full, and dirty. And I knew I'd had this mug the day before, until it was really late so- You must've washed it by hand, then. Probably had to go get it from my office. And it's not like there weren't any <em>other</em> clean cups. And that's what Tim meant."</p><p>Martin remembered a rather confusing day when Tim had made buzzing noises at him, for no apparent reason.</p><p>Jon smiled a bit. "I think... I think I had to think about that way too hard, because Tim laughed at me for the rest of the day."</p><p>'Worker Bee', the cup had read in yellow font. Martin had thought that was so charming. Thought of Jon when he'd bought it. Stupid Martin.</p><p>"Of course I had no idea <em>why</em> you'd chosen to, er, single me out, out of everyone. I guess... I still don't. I wasn't great. I was... not great to you especially."<br/>"You don't say", Martin said coolly.<br/>Jon looked into the fire and fiddled with the string of his teabag, which he never took out and had definitely oversteeped by now.</p><p>He shifted uneasily, "I may have even... Been even harder on you after that. I... sort of wanted you to change your mind. You could've tried it on Tim. He'd have had you."<br/>Martin heard himself snort. Jon probably had no idea how right he was. He didn't know Tim five mulled wines into the Christmas party. Jon had always left early.</p><p>Jon watched Martin shoo the grim look off of his face.<br/>"Why didn't you stop?", he asked, then, as if this was a normal conversation. As if Martin didn't look dead inside.</p><p>"I dunno, Jon. Why'd you want me to?"</p><p>Jon looked into himself, thinking. He didn't give an answer.</p><p>After a while Martin couldn't stop himself. "Maybe you're just that good looking", he simply said.<br/>And he watched Jon snort. Silly Jon. It wasn't that much of a joke, really. So many times he'd meant to give Jon a piece of his mind but then he'd seen that face. If he looked past Jon's prickly posture, and his extensive collection of different ways to glare, and the fact that he seemed sweaty all the time -- not really, not actually all the time, but he'd always <em>looked</em> it, hadn't he. <br/>God his face had changed so much. Back then, would he even have recognised him wearing a smile?</p><p>"I shouldn't have left you to wake up alone. I'm sorry", Jon said.</p><p>"It'll go away."</p><p>Jon looked into the second mug, the surface of the tea had begun getting that murky shine to it that it gets when you leave it too long.<br/>"Should I get you another tea?"<br/>"Mhprobably."</p><p><br/>Jon was patient. Coaxing him out of the chair -- well, couldn't exactly let Jon burn down the house with the frying pan -- finding Martin some more sugar cubes in the back cupboard, ignoring his snippy remarks, getting him to eat something. The only time he left the room it was to bring him an extra sweater once he started to feel the chill of the window he'd opened to air out the smoke from earlier.</p><p>Eventually they were both sat on the sofa side by side, not touching, trying to see if some of the old VHS cassettes worked with the TV. Martin had ended up holding one of the self-recorded ones with a hand-written label, quite bored with this. "Huh", he said.<br/>"What?"<br/>"I was right. Look." Showed it to Jon. "Basira's handwriting."<br/>"Hm. Makes sense. Attenborough", he muttered, taking the tape and putting it back on the stack.<br/>"'Makes sense?'"<br/>"Mh. She finds his voice relaxing." He said it like one of his facts he liked to list.<br/>Martin blinked.<br/>"I'd forgotten", he said. "You guys got to know each other quite well didn't you? At the end there."<br/>Jon shrugged. "She actually didn't seem to like me much any more. But she still came along for drinks, for Daisy."<br/>They were quiet a moment.<br/>"Will she be alright? Daisy."<br/>"No." Jon looked at the dead TV screen. "But she knew that."<br/>There was a silence.</p><p>"I never forgave her", Martin said flatly, suspecting he wouldn't normally have said this. Not if he'd had all his feelings on him. "When she tried to kill you. I didn't understand why you'd go after her, into the coffin. After what she did."</p><p>Jon shrugged slowly. "No one deserves the Buried", he said simply.<br/>"And I guess... Didn't really feel like she was unjustified, for a time."<br/>Martin stared at Jon. "She wanted to execute you. On a hunch!"<br/>Jon threw up his hands. "I never said it was okay! Because it wasn't! <em>But</em>-", he seemed to remember his patience, "You saw her, after. She was... She really snapped out of it. ...She really tried."<br/>Martin couldn't stop staring at Jon. At the scar he had, right on the front of his neck. "You could be dead."</p><p>"<em>You</em> could be gone! Because you were gone!" Jon returned Martin's look intently. "But Daisy made it so I could come find you. She did that. For me. That matters. The the rest of it matters too, but I need you here more than I need to hold a grudge."<br/><br/>He took a deep breath. "I've thought about this. About the things we do that are bad, and the ones that maybe are good. And if they make up for- for..." <br/>"And after everything, I can't really think of Daisy as anything but- <em>Daisy</em>. She liked whiskey, and chips, and The Archers. She was my friend. A good one. And I'm not asking you to feel the same. Just... This is her house, after all."</p><p>Martin huffed and bit his lip. "I'm feeling really mad", he said into the room.<br/>"Well", Jon said, like he was done talking about this.<br/><br/>"No, Jon. I'm really mad! I'm <em>feeling mad.</em>"<br/>"Oh! Oh. That's good then. ...Do you want to be mad?"<br/>"Yeah!"<br/>"Alright. Er", Jon put a finger to his lip. "Let's see. I think your taste in books is awful."<br/>"What? Why would- No it's not. Not everyone can be an esteemed librarian like you,<em> Jon</em>. Some people enjoy maybe being entertained by what they read."<br/>Jon laughed. "Not a librarian. Also, romance I can understand but yours is just drivel."<br/>"Well at least I brought <em>any</em>, Mr 'I own no things for travel'."<br/>"One has '<em>Passion</em>' in the title!"<br/>Martin poked a finger at Jon. "That's not a good reason to be shitty about my reading!"<br/>Jon narrowed his eyes viciously. "It's written in <em>Brush Script</em>!"<br/>"It's a commonly used font!"<br/>"Why would I read any book that has only been reviewed by<em> The Sun</em>?"<br/>"You don't read it for the literary value to mankind, for God's sake."<br/>"It's dreck. Insipid. Kindling."<br/>"You're going to hurt my feelings."<br/><br/>"I had to say something. I was so afraid you didn't know there are <em>good books</em>, too. Ones with forewords. And proper punctuation."<br/>"Ah yes, my two favorite things to read. <em>Loved</em> the punctuation in Eat Pray Love."<br/>Jon laughed. Martin huffed, but a smile came loose on his face.<br/>Crossing his arms Jon schooled his face into condescension. "I don't even have to open one to know the protagonist's name is Pamela."<br/>"It's Patricia", Martin spat with nonsensical victory.<br/>"That would've been my second guess."<br/>"There's no such thing if you only say the one guess. You're clairvoyant, even! And you got it <em>wrong</em>."<br/>"I'm hardly <em>clairvoyant</em>. I don't sell tickets for hand-reading or crystal ball gazing." The bone-dry indignation on him was so convincing. Very Jon.<br/>"You could, though, is the thing. Being clairvoyant isn't defined by making a profit."</p><p>"Fine! But please don't call me that again it makes me sound like someone who lives in a vehicle."</p><p>Jon looked so genuinely pained Martin could only laugh and put his arms around him.<br/>"Read me my tea leaves, Jon", he said, squeezing him. "I'm a Scorpio."<br/>Jon inhaled as if to gather his nerves. "<em>No</em>", he said emphatically. Just. "No."</p><p>"You're really bad at this. Look, I haven't gotten <em>any</em> madder", Martin said, hoarse for some reason.<br/>"We can try again next time." Jon's voice was muffled against his shirt. He squeezed his head past Martin's shoulder and leaned against him. Martin kissed the first part of him he could reach - the temple, the one where most his graying hair started - and closed his eyes for a moment. Jon gladly let this happen - even though this was an awkward angle to hug from, all sideways and unplanned.</p><p>"You know that now you have to read at least one don't you", Martin said.<br/>"What?"<br/>"My books."<br/>"I refuse." <br/>Jon moved around unsucessfully, most likely trying to look at him accusatorily.<br/>"You made some bold claims that were very unfounded", Martin said and finally released Jon, who just looked tousled.<br/>"Only to make you feel better", Jon insisted. "Purely f-"<br/>Martin had leaned in to stop him talking. Had he really forgotten to kiss Jon all day? All day.</p><p>The hand Jon put on Martin's cheek was so careful. Martin put his own hand on it, firm.<br/>"Better?", Jon asked into the space between their faces. <br/>"Uh-huh", Martin said, then grinned with one side of his face only. "Although... Try and kiss it even better?"<br/>Jon scoffed but took him up on the offer all the same. Kissed him better on the mouth, the cheek. His forehead. His neck and shoulder, kissed them better too. <br/><br/><br/>He did it until Martin felt warm into his bones, didn't feel the hollow in them any more. Until he only felt how hot his face was, only felt his poor heart beg for a break, some cynicism, <em>something</em>.</p><p>But Jon knew no mercy now, had started to try and see how deep he could make Martin sink into the cushions (very) and how loud he could get him to sigh (embarrassingly), how tight his hands could curl into Jon's shirt (until he lost the strength in all his limbs). Jon was so inquisitive, methodical almost, it made Martin feel all sorts of ways. He half expected him to mutter <em>'Interesting'</em> under his breath and pen a note into the margins of the freckles on his upper arm. <br/>There was a moment - when Jon got rid of his glasses, scowling at them for getting in the way - Martin felt almost nostalgic. The twinge of his old crush, warped and questionable. A memory of the old Jon, skimming one of Martin's reports with blatant disapproval, pen tapping against the cheap veneer of the table...<br/>When Jon turned back, his eyes all soft, Martin reeled a little. The new Jon, with his long hair and his voice un-stern, and real, and not recorded. Martin did not retain what he said, just pulled him close by the front of his shirt.</p><p><br/>Eventually they got around to seeing if the VCR worked. <em>Eventually</em>. They'd had to do a lot of catching up to do on their breathing and pull shirts back in their place and Jon gave up on his hair tie once again since the couch had eaten it. Martin had to get up and revive the fire.<br/>Now they lay bundled up under the blanket to the sounds and sights of an ancient episode of Columbo, the picture sometimes warping in waves when the recorder did another stutter.<br/>Martin had his head on Jon's chest which allowed him to run his hand along Jon's arm. Up, down. Walking his fingers along the scars. After a while, Jon gave his hand a little shake and he stilled, opted to thumb the back of his hand instead.</p><p>Not that far into the episode - Columbo had barely spoken to any of the house guests about the victim's sordid past - Jon's breathing became slow. His head drifted off further and further to the side. Then, a little snore - <em>fucking</em>, adorable - which started him awake. He straightened again, put his arm on Martin's back.<br/>"How much sleep did you end up getting?", Martin asked.<br/>"Mh", Jon answered. Full stop.<br/>"Jon?"<br/>He sighed like he'd rather not say but knew Martin wouldn't let him get away with it.</p><p>"I uh... Hm. The reason I couldn't really sleep last night... I sort of. Stopped sleeping in the night. Months ago."<br/>Martin raised his head sharply. "What?"<br/>Jon reached out to the remote and paused the TV. Sighed the sleepiness away.<br/>"It's - The dreams. You know. The - the statements. I dream about them now. The subjects, rather." Jon ran a hand through his hair, tugging at a tangle forcefully. "But it's <em>their</em> dreams. They're the ones dreaming. They can tell I'm there, that it's me and - I think I <em>make</em> them dream about it? What happened to them, the parts that scared them most. I -- I can't really avoid doing it unless I...</p><p>I realised if I sleep when they aren't sleeping it's usually fine. Most, those who are alive, you know, they- well some of them are in <em>timezones</em> - but most of them they have their dreams at night so. I started going to sleep in the mornings."<br/>"How does that work? You were working the whole time."<br/>"Well, not on weekends. And not very... And I would nap in storage - The fold-up you put there is still there, you know."<br/>"I just thought you were being a dumbass about sleep like you always were", Martin admitted. <br/>Jon had always worn dark-circled eyes and caffeine-chattering teeth as part of his daily look in the Archives. Hadn't really raised any red flags.</p><p>"So you... can't sleep anymore at night? At all?"<br/>"Not really? The other day I was really knocked out so I- don't remember if I had the dreams. I thought maybe I didn't. That maybe, because we got away - Maybe because you were there... But I was wrong, it turns out."<br/>Martin chewed on this. "Hm. What do you want to do?"<br/>"I... I don't want you to have to worry about it. Or, or stay up with me, even. I can't ask you to. But I also... Can't sleep, not at night. It's not really an option. But. I don't want to leave you alone at night either."</p><p>Martin wasn't a child. He didn't want Jon to feel like he had to put him to <em>bed</em>. But at the same time. He'd just lost half a day to a lonely-numb daze. <br/>"I don't know how I got like this today but... I don't think waking up alone helped things."<br/>He rubbed his forehead. "Ugh. This is... I don't know. I guess you did say it was more complicated now."</p><p>Jon, still holding the remote, let his arm drop unhappily. "I know." </p><p>"Fucking... Elias. And his entire- For God's sake!", Martin muttered.<br/>Jon just hummed a grim agreement.</p><p>"Well if you sleep now I'll be here? We can... figure it out later."</p><p>Jon nodded unconvincingly. "Yes... I suppose." <br/>"We've figured out things so far." Martin craned his neck to give him a determined look.</p><p>"You're right", Jon said. Then pressed play and put the remote where Martin could reach it.<br/>He ran unfocused fingers through Martin's hair until he slipped away into a dead sleep.<br/><br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Let Martin Say Fuck More !!!!!!!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sofa</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey everyone! heads up, this chapter doesn't conclude this fic, there will be a part two that will be more explicit and a bit heavier on the angst but just as cloyingly sweet and meandering so. hope you like that stuff. i sure hope so since you've already read like, a lot of words. so many. what are you even doing</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day Martin caught him sing.<br/>He was coming back from a grocery run, had picked up his steps now that the cabin was in view, so close. Just before stepping on the hollow steps of the porch he heard it, foot still in air when he paused. Jon had to be by the sink with the window open. He wasn't humming absently, quieting whenever he remembered Martin was somewhere in the house, no. Actually singing, confidence maybe varying from verse to refrain, but he was doing a good job of it even.</p><p>Jon had a good voice. A theatre voice. Whenever he raised it just a little it would carry through the whole room. Martin didn't recognise the song. The rythm was a bit chaotic, perhaps not be meant to be sung without the instrumentation. The lyrics sounded capricious, but he was sure Jon knew the words exactly. </p><p>Thinking about it, for some reason he'd always pictured Jon listening to dire classical music only, probably a thought from the early days that had stuck around. That or the only musical entertainment he ever received was elevator music and that was the sum of it. Hrm. Martin wanted to bop himself on the nose. Mean thoughts, Martin. Why.<br/>Grinning he finally made his way up to the door. Jon didn't seem to hear him over the sound of the tap. For some reason the door was left open a sliver. He was sure he'd closed it. Just as well, because Martin could sneak inside that way, and close it quietly.</p><p>"<em>So, we should open up the house</em><br/><em>Invite the tabby two doors down</em><br/><em>You could ask your sister</em><br/><em>If she doesn't bring her basset hound</em><br/><em>Ask the things you shouldn't miss</em><br/><em>Tape-hiss and the Modern Man</em><br/><em>The Cold War and card catalogs</em><br/><em>To come and join us if they can</em></p><p><em>For girly drinks and parlor ga</em>-aH! <em>Lord</em>, Martin! Don't do that!"</p><p>__</p><p><br/>"What are these?"</p><p>Martin had his feet up on the armrest of the sofa with a teacup on his chest after his grocery run while Jon was getting everything packed away. Currently he was holding up a paper bag that had "<em>Get Well Soon</em>" written on it in sweeping cursive ballpoint pen.</p><p>"Oh", Martin said, smiling a little sheepishly. "These are from the lady from the store. They're for you." <br/>Jon, who had already peeked inside nosily, looked up, surprised. "Me? Why?"</p><p>"Yeah, well. See, last time I went she was worried about me being here all by myself so I told her about you. But then Gretel got a little angry with you for letting me carry all this stuff by myself so I said that you were feeling under the weather and we agreed you shouldn't take any longer hikes until you felt better. So today she had these. For you."</p><p>"Huh. ...Did you tell her I do other things around the house while you're gone?" Jon pulled out a homemade ginger biscuit and inspected it. "I mean that's... really nice. Now I feel... bad."</p><p>"That's what I thought, so I picked up some flour so I can make her something for next time."</p><p>Jon frowned as he took a nibble. "Shouldn't I be the one making something? Since, you know. ...These are really nice."</p><p>Martin laughed, which was maybe a little mean. "You know how to bake?"</p><p>"Yes I know how to bake, thank you." Jon sounded a little strained from ducking into the pantry cupboard a moment, "And you don't need to be surprised all the time when I know things in the kitchen."</p><p>"I'm sorry", Martin said, balancing his cup towards his face. "Who was it again who burned the only wooden spoon?"<br/>"That was - <em>if anything</em> - both of our faults." Jon threw the cupboard doors shut for emphasis.</p><p>He wasn't wrong. He was just the one who had been supposed to be making beans while they got distracted with what was meant to be just the <em>one</em> morning kiss.</p><p>"You were the one using it."</p><p>"You're so judgmental", Jon said dramatically and walked round the corner to put the fresh hand soap in the bathroom. "I overcook the noodles <em>one time</em> --", he complained to the hallway, arms raised.</p><p>"Alright", Martin said when he came back, amused. "You also burned breakfast..."</p><p>"That was-- Well. That one was maybe a bit of acting to distract you from being sad."</p><p>Martin scoffed. "They say in every good performance lies a kernel of truth..."</p><p>"Anyway", Jon's head popped up from behind the couch headrest. "Neither of us knows how to deal with an ancient wood fired oven do we? So quit being smug."</p><p>"Yeaaaah." Martin had meant to cross that bridge when he got to it, bright-eyed and dough-handed.</p><p>Jon was holding a pack of pasta in one hand and with the other he handed Martin a biscuit. Martin took this opportunity to try and look charming. "Sooooo. How do you feel about coming with me to the village next time around? Since I sort of got this nice old lady invested in your wellbeing...?" He whinced a bit with his face and smiled with lots of teeth.</p><p>Jon leaned an elbow on the couch thoughtfully. "I'm more concerned that she seems to think I'm a bad boyfriend..." <br/>He said it so grumbly, so casually. Martin tugged at his ear, which was rapidly getting hot.</p><p>"Did you perchance ask her if she's had any horrific unexplained events in her life that she's never shared with an ominous London instutition? Could be awkward."</p><p>Martin took a bite. It was crumbly and sweet, just enough snap. "Don't even joke about that. Gretel's had a hard enough life already, I tell you."</p><p>Jon snorted fondly. "How much time do you spend in that store every time?"<br/>"It's a long walk! She makes me tea to warm up. And today she let me use her wifi to download some films. That took a bit, so we watched the news."</p><p>He held out his hand to Jon for more cookies. He just <em>tsk</em>ed and walked away. Then returned with the bag and Martin pulled up one leg to make room for Jon to sit.<br/>"Sooo? Village? They have a pub. I think everyone thinks it's a bit rude we haven't tried any of the food there. They're really proud of it."<br/>"How many people have you made friends with at this town?" Jon looked a bit perturbed.<br/>"Everybody buys groceries, Jon."<br/>"No it's just... Sometimes I forget. That you get along with people."<br/>"Uhh."<br/>"As opposed to me", he clarified quickly.<br/>"Ah, right. It's not that hard, you know. Maybe if you took more of an interest-"<br/>"You mean I should ask a lot of questions?", Jon asked, giving him a <em>look</em>.<br/>"Well I guess... not then. Anyway. Don't you get a little cooped up in here? No offense but I do the smaller trips so I can go more. Cause it's nice, talking to other people once in a while."<br/>He shrugged. "Not really. I- Guess I got used to it. Before this. And I've never. You know. Been chatty."<br/>He said it so funny. Like it was a weird affliction Martin had. 'Being chatty'.</p><p>"You'd like Gretel though", Martin said, picking crumbs off of the front of his sweater. "She has loads of opinions."<br/>"You mean that's why <em>you</em> like her."<br/>Martin smiled, purposefully insufferably. "It's why I like you both."</p><p>Martin paused before finishing his biscuit. "So how long did you sleep for today?", Martin asked it in such a way that made it clear this wasn't a judgement-free zone at the moment. When he'd gotten ready to leave for the village Jon had just settled down for sleep again after they'd spent the morning. Martin didn't like all this disrupted sleeping Jon was doing but he insisted that it was fine.<br/>Jon had begun drawing little circles on the knee of Martin's jeans. <br/>"Until about one?"<br/>Martin hummed a lukewarm approval.</p><p>At least Jon looked fine. Awake. He still had that gaunt look that Martin was trying to battle with hearty lunches and large sized plates, but it had barely been four days. Also... maybe some of that look was down to the shrinking stack of leftover statements Jon often eyed and then left alone. Martin wasn't yet confident that he could tell the difference. He'd tried Basira four times on the payphone today, twice each time he'd passed it, but she hadn't picked up.</p><p><br/>_____</p><p><br/>The sofa in the safehouse was a little bit too small for the both of them. Still they spent a lot of time on it. It was cozy, and solid, stood in the sunniest spot of the living room, and you could put tea mugs on the table right beside. Most importantly, it was just a little too small for the both of them. There was no way for them to lay on it together without one of them laying on the other in some way. At first Martin had thought Jon was a bit annoyed at it. He kept losing his hair tie and glasses in the cushions and cursing about it while he dug them out. Kept looking at the stains warily, like he was trying to analyse what they were made of. Managed to knee Martin in the thigh one time while reaching for his mug.<br/>But it was Jon who always came over while Martin was reading, or thinking, or doodling absently into his notebook when he meant to work over some of his poems. Jon would walk over and dig himself into his spot between the backrest and Martin, arm across his chest and nothing much to do except bother him. With words, with hands, or otherwise. He was getting to be a bit of a nuisance, really.</p><p><br/>At the moment it was Martin who'd lost something in the crack between cushions - a small paperback novel, an <em>insipid</em> one, thanks Jon. But he had given up on it several minutes ago, just occasionally heard the laminated spine cracking under the his weight and Jon's.<br/>Jon had recently learned that if he kissed Martin around the ears enough he had a really hard time forming full sentences, and so he'd decided to start a solid conversation but like, in an evil way.</p><p>"All I'm saying is", Jon said, "It seems a little <em>mundane</em> is all. A little too simple. Hence, overrated."<br/>He wasn't saying this to Martin's face. More like Martin's collarbone.<br/>"That's why his writing is so good!", Martin insisted, not really breathing. "You're not reading it right. It's not about-"<br/>Jon had his knee between Martin's knees. Martin curled his fingers round Jon's shoulder, keeping him at bay. Holding him close. <br/>"- Being fancy. Or having the- Um the best. Words." He forgot what he was saying for a moment, remembered and then forgot again, while Jon dragged his lips up his neck.<br/>"t's how it reads together. About how it f-<em>feels</em>. Reading it." His eyes were closed. Kisses on his jaw. Cheek. Earlobe. Martin's voice sounded very high. Was it very high? "It's good in your <em>feelings</em>."<br/>Now it was Jon's face he was speaking to.<br/>"I have <em>feelings</em>", he said, and Martin opened his eyes just in time to catch his frown.</p><p>"Feelings", Martin replied dumbly, and smiled. Jon's face softened considerably.<br/>Martin wrapped his arms around Jon's back, who gave in to the weight of them while trying to think of the next thing to say. Meanwhile Martin tried to adjust his legs but the blanket had come tangled between them, trapping him and - Oh. Uh-oh.</p><p>He put his hands on Jon's hips and firmly held him away, but he did it too late. All he could see was Jon's face get mildly confused. Watch the realisation pool on his face. "...Martin?", he said, almost concerned.</p><p>"Sorry", Martin managed from between his teeth, feeling the hot splash of guilt only through a thick layer of embarrassment. He'd meant to let this happen, enjoy the attention, get giddy, drink in all the little touches, then pretend to be mad at Jon a little maybe, for making him red, and huffy, and interrupting his reading. Then slink off to take a shower. A long one. That's what he normally did.</p><p>Jon ran through some thoughts before he really caught on. Sat up a little straighter. "Ah."<br/>Martin winced. "Didn'tmeanto - Do that, sorry."<br/>"Its fine. It's <em>fine</em>", Jon said, putting a hand on Martin's arm. "I don't mind."<br/>And he looked like... he didn't mind.</p><p>"Really...?" Martin couldn't manage to un-squeeze his face. Or his stomach.<br/>Jon laughed with his eyes, shook his head.<br/>"Are you sure?"<br/>"Martin. I'm not - It's not like I'm <em>allergic</em>."<br/>"You said you don't like..."<br/>Jon threw up his hands. "Yes but that doesn't mean - That's not really how it is."<br/>"How is it then?"<br/>Jon made an unhelpful noise, like a breath that had two syllables.<br/><br/>"I'm just gonna- Can you let me up? I'm gonna go."<br/>"It really is fine. You don't have to-"<br/>"I'm just. So sorry."<br/>Martin tried to maneuver Jon away but Jon took his arm, though gently. "Don't- Can you quit feeling bad for a second?"<br/>"I dunno. I- I <em>very clearly</em> can't control how I feel, so-"<br/>For about a heartbeat Jon looked like he was trying not to laugh. Now Martin was annoyed.</p><p>"Jon can you please explain? I know it's hard for you to do but. I dunno. I don't really know anything to begin with about--" None of the words seemed right. <br/>"I'm lost, Jon."</p><p>Now it was Jon who looked guilty. He let go of Martin, both hands briefly raised as if to capitulate. He sat back on his heels and Martin pulled his feet back and away so he could sit down proper. Having retreated to the other end of the couch Jon had put on a carefully curated expression. The way he sat now, he wasn't exactly hugging his knees to his chest but he looked like he might consider it.</p><p>"I'm sorry. I know you have... Hm. I just don't... Understand?", Jon said, picking lint from his socks. "It's one of those things everyone talks about but it doesn't make that much sense to me? I understand the concept, I do. But it's-" He breathed around the words. "<em>So much</em>. Sometimes it's like it's all people talk about. And they make such a big deal out of it, and they don't - they don't say what they really <em>mean</em>, and then I have to figure it out and..."</p><p>He waved a hand like he did when he wanted to start over.<br/>"I used to think it was like that for everyone. I thought it was like like drinking beer. I thought once you start having it you realise why people like it so much. And until then you just play along."</p><p>"Oh, Jon."</p><p>"It's not that. I never- I- I've <em>tried</em> it. With Georgie, and she's great. She understood. Some of it. And I even liked some parts. But I never really. Got anywhere."</p><p>He dropped his arms, rather lamely.</p><p>"Okaaay", Martin said. He hated how miserable Jon looked there. At the lack of good words, lack of sensible answers. At himself.</p><p>Martin shifted to sit at a different angle. "Like I said, I'm perfectly happy just holding hands for the rest of our lives and I mean that."</p><p>He waited until Jon's nervous hands stilled. Sometimes words sank in on Jon at a predictable pace.<br/>"But what I'm hearing is just a lot of... you worrying? And you're not the most, you know relaxed sort of person. You <em>could</em> try-"</p><p>"Not worrying?" The small smile on Jon's lips said <em>That's silly, Martin. There is no such thing as 'not worrying'</em>.</p><p>"You didn't look worried just now", Martin said, teasing only gently.</p><p>Jon kept smiling absently at Martin's left shoulder. "I try."</p><p>Martin sat up a little more, still highly aware of where the blanket laid across him. Now that Jon didn't look like someone was trying to pull his teeth, Martin leaned forward a little.<br/>"So you never think about sex? Ever?"</p><p>Jon made his thinking face. "Not ...usually? The male average is about 8 times per day. So lower than that, definitely."</p><p>Martin snorted. At the mental image of Jon bundled up with his laptop at two in the morning, googling adult facts and figures.<br/>Jon, for once, didn't look affronted by Martin laughing at the things he said that weren't jokes. Then he turned the question around. "You?"</p><p>"Me? I mean... Yea", he said, rather superfluously he felt like. "Most days. Not very much when I was being lonely. But normally. ...I don't have a <em>number</em>, Jon."<br/>Jon gave him a look like he didn't need reminding that people didn't usually measure their base thoughts and impulses against the national average. Martin made a face like he had his doubts.</p><p>Jon unfolded his arms and leaned against the back of the sofa with his shoulder. "You know, I never asked you. If you've had relationships."</p><p>Martin tried to avoid blushing. But it was a very obvious moment for blushing, or so his body thought. <br/>"Not really? I had boyfriends in school but..." He made a face. "Mum wasn't very... She wasn't a fan. So there was a lot of. You know. Sneaking around."</p><p>With a cringe, and a pop of nostalgia, Martin was reminded of some of the more memorable car seats of that time. Between the halting secretiveness, the repeating hiding spots and the blaring cassette music, it was maybe the most in common Martin had ever felt he had with his peers.</p><p>"I mean you <em>are</em> very sneaky", Jon said. Martin nodded seriously.</p><p>Jon looked like he was having a rather hard time with this. Picturing Martin making doe eyes at someone other than him, possibly not even holding any tea.</p><p>Martin was rather glad for the way Jon had phrased the question. <em>Relationships</em>. He really didn't feel like talking about the past months, and felt even less like lying about them. The low moments. There was something singularly lonely about, after years, finally acquiring a semblance of confidence, only to allow some stranger into his bed without ever learning his name.</p><p>They were now sitting facing each other, each on their end of the couch. Their feet almost touched. For a moment they sat silent, each became lost in whatever thoughts got away from them just then.</p><p>"The point is", Jon said eventually. "It's me who can't figure it out. Who's... I don't need you to hold back. I don't want you to." <br/>He was looking toward the window. But he was looking at it, truly. Wasn't just looking away.</p><p>"What does that mean, Jon?"<br/>Jon shrugged, with just the one shoulder that wasn't up against a cushion.</p><p>"I don't mind it, Martin. When you... I er, like it. Feels like I'm doing something right."</p><p>Martin knew he was still pink. And rightfully so. But...<br/>"I don't get to feel that, Jon."</p><p>Jon's face drained of any expression. He swallowed.<br/>"I'm sorry", he said quietly. He looked down at the hands in his lap as if to inspect something, but then he closed his eyes, brows still drawn up. "Do you want to stop?"</p><p>"God no", Martin said before he could think. "Ehm. I just. I still don't know what to do. Like, <em>actually</em> do? With this. You, me. What to do."</p><p>He must've looked very, very exasperated, because as distraught as Jon was, he still laughed through his nose.</p><p>"<em>I</em> don't know. But can't we just... Not worry about it? What was it you said? Figure it out later."</p><p>"Not really? Not with this. ...I don't want to do something that hurts you."</p><p>Jon shrugged. "I'll tell you."</p><p>"It's not so simple, Jon. There's-"<br/>Jon was still smiling for some reason. "Martin. When have you known me to not like something and stay quiet about it?"</p><p>Martin was chewing on his lip. This he couldn't refute. </p><p>But there was another thing, now urgent at the back of his mind.<br/>"Do you even ... like the kissing? Or do you like that I like it? Making me all silly and..."</p><p>Jon laughed disbelievingly.<br/>"Do I- You think that- You're being very stupid."<br/>"Am I?"</p><p>Jon reached out his hand to Martin, who took it on instinct. Jon pulled himself across the gap between them. Put his hands on Martin's face.</p><p>"Martin look at me."<br/>Martin did.<br/>"Now kiss me." He looked very serious.<br/>Martin did. <br/>Jon didn't let him stop right away. Put his thumbs on the sides of his cheeks, holding firm. When he finally did stop he looked into his eyes intently. <br/>"Now kiss me... here." And he put a finger just below his ear, where the very soft skin was.<br/>Hesitating a moment, Martin did.<br/>His hand had landed on Jon's upper arm. Now he felt a prickle of goosebumps there, on the back of it.</p><p>"I thought you didn't like that", Martin mumbled. <br/>Jon's voice was coarse. "You surprised me, is all."</p><p>Martin leaned back, considering Jon sternly.<br/>"Where else."<br/>After a moment's hesitation, Jon tapped his collarbone, just below where the pulse was. </p><p>This, Martin made a meal of it. Leaned in slowly, brushed his lips gently over the line of Jon's jaw, allowed his hands to wander down the sides of his chest. Listened closely to the changes in Jon's breathing. Saw how his mouth tensed and un-tensed sometimes. He didn't arrive for ages where Jon had asked, and when he did he started so light and slow, Jon held his breath in wait. When he put his mouth on him in earnest, Jon breathed in shallowly, and again when he gathered up the flesh between his lip and teeth.<br/>He realised now that when Jon tensed it wasn't at all in defense. It was just what his back did when his breath changed. His legs moved slightly.<br/>Jon had gotten very quiet now, one hand<br/>Martin kissed a narrow line from there to behind the ear. Listened to Jon's body, felt his hands tense against his arms. He mouthed at Jon's throat and there was a tensing of the jaw, an inhale.</p><p>"Jon?"<br/>"Hmm?"<br/>"This is good?"<br/>"Uh-huh."<br/>"You're being very quiet", Martin whispered.<br/>"I- Haven't got anything to say?"<br/>"Not that. Just. Would you relax? You're not going to wake any neighbors." Martin took this opportunity to slide his hands under Jon's shirt and gage his reaction.</p><p>"...Is that the goal normally?"<br/>This one took a while to register as a joke, maybe because Jon's smile coincided with him arching his back a little under the touch.<br/>"Wake the neighbors?", Jon elaborated.<br/>Martin grinned back. "Maybe", he said teasingly.</p><p>He nuzzled the side of Jon's face, landing somewhere between the ear and where the hair started at the nape of the neck.<br/>"I know you're not always quiet", he mutterd into his ear. "When we first kissed you weren't."</p><p>The noise Jon now made was one of vague denial. <em>No, Martin, I was very composed I'll have you know.</em> But it was nonverbal, for a start.<br/><br/>Martin moved his hands up, bunching up Jon's shirt. Kissed Jon's cheek, dragging his lips over it. Observed Jon's eyes fall shut when he let his hands travel further up towards his shoulder blades.<br/>Martin brought his mouth almost to Jon's mouth. Let Jon come the rest of the way, his eyes still closed. <br/><br/>This kiss he made less sweet, experimentally, pushy almost. The low gasp Jon gave made Martin even braver, and while his one hand had come up and out the collar at the back of Jon's shirt to steady the base of his skull, he pulled out the other hand, to run it up his side and onto his chest. <br/>This was where Jon threw his arms around Martin, their foreheads touched, and Martin rather lost the thread of what he was trying to do. He gave a hum against Jon's mouth, then felt wiry fingers rake through his hair. Sighed loud when Jon kissed him back so hard his whole body wanted to curl, subsume Jon, squeeze him so tight to himself they would never come apart again. <br/><br/>Then, <em>then</em> Jon made a sound. A lovely, little <em>ah.</em> But it was so light, so helpless, Martin could have cried. He let up and drew a rattly breath against the dizziness - or rather that had been the plan, but Jon followed the move of his head, not willing to break apart quite yet. Maybe breathing wasn't so important after all, Martin thought distantly. What was important was that Jon wanted to kiss him and sometimes Jon was right, really right. Sometimes what Jon wanted was the most important thing in the world. The only thing.</p><p>"Ow."<br/>Martin pulled away. "Sorry. Sorry", he said, dazed. Too dazed to see right away how Jon breathed a laugh.<br/>"I'm sorry."<br/>"You bit me." Jon sounded surprised more than anything else.<br/>"Not <em>hard</em>- I mean sorry. Oops. Guess I got- Well."<br/>Jon brought a hand to his lip. There wasn't even a mark. Martin gave him a sheepish look.</p><p>He took the opportunity to reach for some composure, like a drowning man reaching for rope. Brought some space between himself and Jon, let the air cool his face.</p><p>Enviably, Jon's brown skin saved him from the constant indignity of blushing visibly, but right now he could feel the heat coming off of his face all the same, giving him away. His hair had become all undone, some of it curved peskily into eyes. Jon had a dazed look to him, catching his breath, though he didn't take his eyes off Martin. There weren't enough poems in the world. Not to prepare Martin for how lovely Jon was right now. Not by miles.</p><p>Jon cleared his throat. "Does that answer your question?", he said. When Jon couldn't quite get ahold of his own expression he always drew up his shoulders a little, which made him look so much more lost, especially in this ridiculous giant T-shirt.<br/><br/>Martin blinked slowly. "I had a question?"</p><p>Jon laughed at him - rude - and pushed some of Martin's hair to the side.<br/>Martin leaned his face against Jon's neck trying to regain some of his mind.</p><p>"Jon I'm going to have to get up now."<br/>"Oh. Okay."</p><p>__<br/><br/></p><p>Getting to sleep was a challenge. Martin was tired, really tired, but Jon was <em>right there</em>. Distracting him. And the feeling was mutual. He had long turned off the light when they were still trading kisses and mumbled foolishness. There was one moment when he'd thought maybe he could settle down and drift off with his face against Jon's hair, but then Jon snuck his hand under his shirt. <br/><em>No, no no no,</em> he thought, sighing happily.<br/>"You're impossible", he mumbled, hand curling, the back of it against the pillow. Jon hummed insufferably. He couldn't be tired yet, was just putting Martin to bed, but his fingers were clumsy and his breathing sleepy as he brushed his mouth across Martin's neckline, then took a nibble.</p><p>"<em>I'm</em> not allowed to bite you", Martin frowned into the dark, sleep making him sound more sullen than he meant to.<br/>Jon propped himself up, leaning over him, mouth still by Martin's jaw. <br/>"I never said that." <br/>Instantly Martin became more awake. He stretched and let his arms fall around Jon's torso. "Oh really?" This was now the most interesting thing in the world.</p><p>"I just recall you being a baby about it", he said, smiling at the offended bob of Jon's head.<br/>"You have a really poor memory." He felt Jon's eyes on him, even in the dark.<br/>"Really? I just remember you going all <em>How dare you, Martin. You're not allowed. I am gravely wounded</em>-"<br/>Jon snorted. Laughing at himself was an ability he was acquiring slowly, but he was making solid progress every day.<br/>"Yes, that's exactly what I sound like."<br/>Martin chuckled at how annoyed he was. But then Jon sobered a little, "I'm allowed to make up my mind am I not?"<br/>"You're very welcome to. But you have to let me know about these things. <em>I</em> can't read minds."<br/>"Neither can I, Martin."<br/>Martin gave his arms a tug, pulling Jon closer. "So are you going to do that again or should I go to sleep?"<br/>Jon gave his answer which was, it turns out, not in favor of sleep.</p><p>_</p><p><br/>"Stop."<br/>Martin froze.</p><p>He let go of Jon's waist and retreated, but Jon put his hands on his hips, stopping him from getting up further. <br/>"Wait."<br/>In the long shadows of the too-bright reading light he saw Jon's pinched frown, his head sunken into the mattress, hair pooling around it. His shoulders were tense.</p><p>"What is it?"<br/>Jon looked like he was concentrating on something, annoyed, eyes closed. He shook his head imperceptibly. <br/>"Just. A little much."<br/>"What, the kissing or the-"<br/>"No, it's- Too much, all at once."<br/>"I'm sorry."<br/>He took some more of his weight off of Jon, ignoring his hands, and moved back, sat beside Jon. Jon took the opportunity to press the heels of his hands to his eyes. Martin noticed the hair was standing up on his forearms.</p><p>"We did a lot more while we were on the sofa", Martin said, confused.<br/>"Yes but the sofa isn't <em>loud</em>."<br/>"Loud?"<br/>Jon sighed. He put one hand down by his head, knuckles to the sheets.<br/>"This just happens sometimes. You didn't do anything wrong."<br/>He still had his eyes closed, so he reached for Martin's hand blindly. Martin took it gently. He seemed to be relaxing, though slowly.<br/>"What happens sometimes?"<br/>Jon gestured at himself with his other hand, towards his head, his torso, characteristically unhelpful.<br/>"Static", he just said.</p><p>Martin laid down next to him. "What's that mean?"<br/>Jon made an annoyed sigh. It wasn't directed at Martin.<br/>"Usually it happens when I'm in crowds. I didn't think- It's been a while." He was still talking quietly.<br/>"Will it go away?"<br/>"Mhthat depends. Yes, if I have a sit down, quiet. I can ignore but then it might... drag on."<br/>"Weird."<br/>"Mh."</p><p>Martin dug his cheek into the sheets. Heard the rustling of the not-yet-worn-out cotton blend. Hm. Loud.<br/>Maybe it was just as well Jon was reluctant to come along to the village. There were a few more things he had to google while Gretel was busy.</p><p>"Is there anything I should look out for then?"<br/>"No. Please don't think- It was really nice."<br/>A wily grin snuck on Martin's tired face. "Which part?"<br/><br/>____________<br/><br/></p><p>Martin woke in the middle of the night again. He'd had a bad dream. A nightmare, he would have called it if he didn't know the shape of <em>actual</em> nightmares. Not a <em>nightmare</em> nightmare. A nightmare for people. A nightmare full of real life memory, of hard times, of electric lights in the shop. It had felt real, because it was a real memory, just unspooling on his unsuspecting mind, merciless. Somehow it was just as bad as the worms, or the meat, or the million other things he had the privilege to have real memories of. He'd just as soon forget this too, that time he'd cried at the grocery store, buying chocolate truffles for two even though he was going to eat them alone from now on. Forgetting his plastic, putting things back where he'd found them, one by one. Dropping the tray of peaches in the aisle, and they rolled away so far. So far. He wasn't able to bend down and pick up even one. Unable to do anything but ask them to stop, please, and cry, on the floor. </p><p>When he got up from the bed he had that automatic stiffness, that tight feeling in his heart he still got sometimes, when he went downstairs to pee and to look at the light to feel present again. He went into the living room where the open curtains showed the dawn threatening the horizon. Martin was hoping Jon wasn't taking up the whole couch. Would have some blanket left for him.</p><p>He put a big log on the embers first. In the light of the small lamp that Jon never turned off he just saw the top of Jon's still head on the armrest. Then when he rounded the sofa ---- What the fuck.<br/>There, on top of Jon's stomach, on top of the blanket - something dark and round and - <em>alive</em> ?<br/>Martin stared at it, frozen. Something furry and balled up. It was breathing. How did it get in? The door was shut tight. All the windows, too.<br/>Carefully, slowly, Martin stepped around the coffee table and touched Jon, gently, on the head. <br/>"<em>Jon.</em>"<br/>Thankfully he woke easily, and not sharp and heavy-elbows first. "Whu?"<br/>"There's a - animal? On you?"<br/>Squinting, Jon looked down himself, put a hand on the pile planted there. "Yes?", he said, no trace of a panic.<br/><br/>"I made friends", he said apologetically. "When you were out."<br/>Responding to Jon's touch, a scraggly face appeared from the mass, slim-eyed, and yawned accusatorily. It proceeded to start a staring contest with Martin. It had a scarred ear and mean cheekbones.<br/>"You're letting cats into the house?", he said numbly.<br/>Jon laughed at his tone. The cat gave him a surly look for this, being shaken slightly. </p><p>"It's really cold outside", he said, apropos of an excuse.<br/>"You don't know where it's been. What if it has fleas!"<br/>"She doesn't, I checked." With one finger he rubbed the head of the cat, which had decided that it was safe to ignore Martin now. It had really dark black fur everywhere except the face. Fur so dark you wouldn't be able to <em>see</em> any fleas. Right? At least it looked healthy. Shiny.<br/>"Well. Fine. But she's in my spot."<br/>"Mhalright. Let me-"<br/>Jon tried to sit and get his hands under the cat. She gave a warning<em> Mmmmreuw</em> and continued to vibrate loudly when he lifted it, then suddenly tensed and jumped away onto the table and the floor and begun swishing its tail.</p><p>"If it pees in here I will be so mad at you."<br/>"She won't pee, she's a housecat, I felt a chip." Jon laid back down, tugged on Martin's trouser leg. He was way too calm about this. Martin watched the cat walk over to the fireplace and sit on a cardigan that was balled up there, suspiciously conveniently. He kept looking at it when he lifted the blanket and climbed under it. Not a speck of dirt was on it from where the cat had lain on it.<br/>"Housecat? What house? We don't <em>have</em> neighbors."<br/>"Cats have legs, Martin. I think she got caught in the rain is all."<br/>As if to spite Martin, the cat was cleaning her paw demonstratively. Jon touched Martin on the head as if willing him to quit staring daggers at a resting animal.<br/>"You didn't feed her did you? She'll come back all the time."</p><p>"Uhh."</p><p>"Jonathan! What happened to Mr <em>'I only know one good cat in the entire world, discerning man that I am</em>' Sims?"<br/>He earned a bemused raise-and-lower of eyebrows from Jon, looking down at him because laying on this couch was a puzzle every time, Martin only fit around Jon's legs just so, head on his chest.<br/>"I can like two cats. Why is this such a problem, I thought you like animals."<br/>"I do, I do. Just. Not as a surprise in the middle of the night."<br/>"Sorry. I thought she'd gone away so I didn't mention."</p><p>"If she has to go outside I'm not the one getting up." <br/><br/>Jon's hand on his head smoothed his hair conciliatorily. Then it became weighty.<br/>"Did you dream again?"<br/>"M-hmm. Nothing dramatic", Martin said, rubbing his eye. "Any more pets I should know about?"<br/>Jon made a small noise that meant he was smiling. "Only the one. Though... I saw a spider by the sink. I put a potlid on it."<br/>"I'm proud of you", Martin mumbled.</p><p> </p><p>The cat left a few hours later, when Jon dug himself out from under Martin and let it outside. Afterwards Jon gently herded Martin upstairs because <em>You'll get your back weird again, come on</em>.</p><p><br/>___________<br/>___________</p><p><br/>"I'll be out of here in a second", Martin mouthed around his toothbrush, Jon having wandered into the bathroom with a fresh towel over his shoulder.<br/>"Don't rush on my account", Jon said, distracted with the hair tie he'd gotten stuck in the ends of his bun that he never properly let un-twist.<br/>"I'm almost done."<br/>Martin watched Jon drape his towel over the droopy rail on the wall, rake his hair into order, take off his T-shirt... Martin felt his toothbrush hand slow. Suddenly hot, he scolded his eyes away and spat into the sink.<br/>Jon balled up his shirt and tossed it into the cardboard box they were using as a hamper.<br/>"Unless, you know. You want to join me." </p><p>He said it just casually enough for Martin to not inhale his mouthful of rinsing water. He spat it out, too, with too little force and some dribbled down his chin.</p><p>"Can I wash your hair?", he asked, far too quickly.<br/>Jon's eyebrows raised peculiarly while his eyes wandered to the left.</p><p>"Okay."<br/>The sizeable pause Jon had left there made Martin suddenly felt like he'd been granted a privilege too grand for what he'd intended.</p><p>Jon apparently sensed this so he shrugged. "Though I don't know why you'd want to."<br/>"Of course you don't. You get to touch your hair all the time."<br/>Jon '<em>Pffff</em>'ed and turned on the water cautiously, standing away from the spray. It always needed a while to warm up.</p><p>Taking off his shirt in front of Jon shouldn't feel out of the ordinary, Martin thought, considering they'd been sharing a bed - and many stupidly wonderful hours in it - for, what, five days? But it did. He felt Jon give him an odd look, like he'd just had a similar thought, sans the self-consciousness Martin hadn't quite managed to fight off. As if to spite his burning ears he got rid of his pants more quickly, and gave them a little kick. Damn '<em>feeling all of the feelings</em>' again. Feelings were rubbish. </p><p>He found Jon already dipping his hands into the spray, very in the nude, and splashing his face and neck first, the motions smooth with routine.<br/>When Jon turned around to let the water hit his shoulders Martin had he distant instinct to hide his face behind a file folder and stammer an excuse on his way out of the office.<br/>Jon was a slight man, but he had good bones. Like, <em>good</em> bones. No one at the Institute had ever seemed to agree with him but Martin knew for a fact they were all wrong. Especially now he did.</p><p>Jon rolled his eyes.<br/>"It's a shower, Martin, not a proposal."<br/><em>We can have both.</em><br/>"I know that."<br/>There was so much love in Jon's stupid teasing voice. He always weaponised it when he wanted Martin to feel more at ease. Choice of joke? ...Maybe he'd get better at it one day.<br/>Martin very nearly stepped into the shower until he remembered socks existed, sometimes on his feet. He snorted at himself and got rid of them.</p><p>Thing about showering together is, you have to stand really close. Else you get cold. Else you're not really in the shower, are you.<br/>The water was really warm where it hit Martin's chest and the front of his hair, which immediately started to droop into his eyes. <br/>Martin knew he had a stupid face on, looking at Jon. Like, very stupid. Maybe if he kissed Jon right now he'd close his eyes. He could have his dumbstruck face in peace without him seeing. Besides, if he didn't kiss Jon right now, he might lose his mind. </p><p>"It's not too loud in here?", he asked after taking the last step and was close enough for Jon to hear him without having to raise his voice.<br/>Jon shook his head like Martin wasn't quite getting the point, then put his hands on Martin's shoulders, one after the other. Martin could feel the pressure of Jon's hands becoming heavier but he'd already decided to lean down to kiss him and the momentum of them both heading for each other, however small, got their mouths to clash together. There was the click of teeth and Martin heard Jon make an <em>eugh</em> noise just as he did the same. They laughed at the same time too, lips still touching.<br/>"Woops", Martin said, slowly as not to break them apart. <br/>He put his hands, a little gingerly, on Jon's waist. Water ran thickly over his fingers.<br/>They were so close it was hard to tell who started the kiss over first. Maybe it just happened, all on its own. Who even cares.</p><p>Showers were good. Nice. The water made for brave kisses, turned sloppy kisses. The water would wash things away later. There chests and stomachs were already touching from when Jon had pulled himself closer earlier, and Martin's belly made for a nice cushion that stopped him thinking too much further.</p><p>Martin put one hand at the back of Jon's neck, his hair now heavy and long - really really long, wow - and his other arm circled him further. With the warm water in his eyes and on his back, touching so much of Jon's skin at once... He'd joked about it before but this <em>was</em> probably what the opposite of lonely felt like. <br/>When their lips came apart it was Martin who was standing in the thick of the shower spray for some reason.<br/>"We <em>should</em> probably shower, at some point", Jon pointed out sardonically. Martin couldn't quite bring himself to open his eyes. Or agree.<br/>"Just. One second", he asked, not hiding the need in his throat, and lungs and chest. If he only he took one more tiny step- Jon's back came up against the shower wall behind him. It was cold, but Jon was only touching it with his shoulder blades, the rest was all Martin's arms, shielding, hugging, holding in place. <br/>He'd opened his eyes to watch Jon's expression. He found him looking into his eyes straight on, waiting.<br/>He <em>had </em>meant to take just a second. He had. But. There was no way to do it now but slowly, holding eye contact, gently splaying his fingers against Jon's skull. Jon's arms around his neck urged him on, but he ignored them soundly. <em>Just a second.</em></p><p>Now this, this one was a one-sided kiss, one that didn't happen on its own. Because Martin had Jon against a wall, because Jon's eyes said nothing but <em>Do it Do it Do it</em>. It happened because Martin wanted it very very badly. So badly, he whined a little against Jon's mouth, hoping the shower noise would swallow it. He felt Jon breathe heavy, felt it strong against his wet skin. The touch of his tongue as warm as that of his hands under the heated shower spray. This was one thing Martin would come back to think about later -- Later. He let up, barely having had enough. But the wall was cold, and so must be Jon. </p><p>When he opened his eyes their noses were still touching. When he dropped the hand from Jon's head, Jon was still leaning hard against the tiles. Martin meant to steer them back under the water, but Jon's hands ran down Martin's face and pulled him into another kiss, eyes still focused.<br/>Maybe a few seconds more.<br/><br/>Martin found himself with Jon's hands in his hands, held by his chest. A moment later he felt himself put them both against the wall, left and right of Jon's face, and his own fingers climbing in between Jon's fingers. Jon drew a breath - a short break and peek revealed his face had softened, eyes less open now, a tad unsteadied. But he still had that same challenging look. So. Well.<br/>Martin let himself kiss Jon hard, the push of it moved Jon's head slightly upwards against the tile. Martin had been a fool to think the shower drowned out the high, needy moans he'd made, because he could hear one now from Jon, felt it inside his own chest even; something rare and low and breathy. It was just as unexpected as the idea of Jon letting this happen, letting Martin - <em>Martin</em> - -</p><p>It was over far too soon but at least Martin could think thoughts again now, and, consolingly, touch Jon on the face, slackened and soft as it was. He turned them on the spot a little, let Jon have the warm water back. Let Jon stand somewhere where Martin would be less tempted to do this all over, and not stop until they were pruny and ran out of warm water entirely.<br/>Over the stream he thought he heard Jon trying to clear his throat quietly, reaching for shampoo.<br/>"So-", Martin loved how often Jon's voice betrayed him. When it came out cracked at the beginning of the sentence. "You said you wanted to wash it -?"<br/>"Right. Turn around."<br/>Before Jon handed him the bottle he paused. "Can you-- Could you not touch me anywhere when you have soap on your hands?"<br/>"Uh, sure."</p><p>The smell of the green tea shampoo was oddly strong. He'd started to associate it with Jon so intensely that it seemed really odd to him now that it came in a bottle, even though he was the one who'd picked it out.<br/>Martin gripped the bottle, glad for a distraction from the rush of the water and his own heartbeat in his ears.<br/>He started in the back, because that's where hair needs washing most. He started out gentle until Jon held his head up less tightly, then tested how firm he could go before he complained - pretty firm, turns out. Some shampoo trickled over the back of Jon's neck. Martin stopped himself reaching out and wiping at it twice.<br/>Eventually he had Jon turn back around, let him lean his forehead against his chest while he rubbed the lather into the sides by the temples and back. He did it little longer than necessary because Jon's head had gotten heavier and heavier.</p><p>Jon gave a hum. "You're pretty good at that", he said in his sleepy voice.<br/><br/>"You don't need to sound so surprised."<br/><br/>Martin might better at it than Jon; or so he suspected. Jon hadn't even been able to name the brand of whatever it was he'd been bumming from Georgie when he lived there - Notably the only thing that hadn't worsened about Jon's visible wellbeing in that time was his hair. Martin suspected the only reason he had even been able to grow it out at all without tangles was due to the product passively available in her shower.<br/><br/><br/>When they got out of the bathroom - rather quickly at the end, since the warm water did run out on them eventually - Jon was all warm and soft-spoken and uncharacteristically pliable. Martin was so enamored watching him put on his pants extra clumsily he immediately gave up on the things he'd meant to take care of today. There was time. Instead he unearthed the book he was reading, laid on the sofa and wagged his toes at Jon who, predictably, came over to crawl under the blanket with him. Today he didn't insist on his spot for a change, just laid plain on Martin's chest, hair still damp, and immediately begun falling asleep. Martin bent his novel back into shape a few times and, lifting it over the crown of Jon's head, rested his forearms on his back. He started reading.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>keen eyes will have spotted that the song lyrics are from Virtute the Cat Explains her Departure by The Weakerthans, which is my idea of extremely lame cat-related foreshadowing and, you know. having an ongoing ~theme~<br/>yes, this Jon listens to indie music blame Georgie</p><p>The opinions and cluelessness voiced by Martin in this work do not reflect those of the author! He's not meant to be doing great, just trying great<br/>___<br/>again, I looove to read comments and hear thoughts<br/>thanks for reading, stay tuned!</p>
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